Werewolf Fever
by PezMaster
Summary: Now Complete: When Remus Lupin catches a horrible flu, nobody thinks twice about it. But when, one by one, the fever spreads to the other Marauders, its results bring about more attention and even more problems then they needed.
1. Remus

_Hullo. Remember me? Yes, I haven't died. I haven't been captured by wild Mongolian gypsies, or attacked by a pack of irate penguins. I know I've left this world for a while, a whole year almost, but now that my life has begun to settle down, I'm ready to revisit something I've enjoyed doing since I was a young'en. I've had the story below writing and waiting for quite a long time, but I've never gotten the chance to spruce it up and post it until now. It's my second Marauder's story ('Party Animals' being my first) which continues where I have left off so many months ago. It features James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and (of course) Phiona. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. The first chapter was written from experience. Yes, don't ask questions so I won't have to answer them._

_Cheers and All the Best,_

_PezMaster_

_Ah yes, by the way – The other beast, 'Harry Potter and the Gem of Grogonous', is still in the process. Don't worry, that bloody thing's going to be finished – even if it's the last thing I do. Which would be pretty sad, now that I think about it. Yep, the beau wouldn't like that too much now, would he?_

_Ooo__, just ickle reminder.__ Please don't steal. Because I don't. Thank you._

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**Werewolf Fever**

_CHAPTER ONE:_

_ Remus_

James Potter woke up to a sharp pain in his side. He let out a slight whimper before rolling over and forcing himself to drift back to sleep. The pain was still planted firmly in his side, nestled snugly between James's rib cage and liver. His hand tried to swat away the cause of this disruption. It connected with something; a smart smack sounded that could only be attributed to hand slapping flesh.

Slowly, James opened one eye. Then the other.

Apparently, his bed's population had grown considerably during the night without his knowledge.

"Oh sweet _Lord_, Black! Piss _off_!"

With a mix of complete horror and utter disgust, James gave the second occupant of his bed a forceful shove. Sirius Black hit the hardwood floor below with a dull thud and several curse words.

"Morin' sunshine," came Sirius's voice from the dormitory floor.

It was much too early for these sort of games. James pressed his face into the palms of his hands and began to sooth his pounding temples. "I'll only ask this once," he said slowly. "Sirius?"

"Yes, m'love?" Sirius rose up from the floor, his chin resting neatly at the foot of James's bed.

"What the hell were you doing in my bed?"

Growing tired of playing sexual predator, Sirius got to his feet and stretched to his full height. He scratched the back of his head, his persona looking much like a tired chimpanzee. "Why don't you try Pete first?" Sirius said through a thick yawn. "He'd give you a straight answer. As apposed to me, who might put forth some homophobic jabs solely to bring you to question your own sexual preferences."

"What do you mean, ask Peter?" James turned onto his side, looking quickly behind him. There lay Peter Pettigrew snoozing soundly, his body folded into the fedal position quietly on the end of James's pillow. With one big kick from James, Peter was flung off the side of the bed.

"_Ow . . ._ my _leg,_" Peter moaned over-extravagantly, pulling himself up from the floor. "What'd you do that for, James?"

James's mouth hung open for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Could the boy have asked a question more dim-witted then that one? No. That was not possible. "Why _I_ did that?" James snapped back. "Why were _you_ sleeping in my bed? And please, Sirius," he continued without missing a beat, "no smart-arse remarks. It's too early."

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter." Sirius finished another wide yawn and then began to stretch his thin frame. A large crack sounded from the base of his spine. Two more came from his neck. "We're just friends, you bint, nothing more."

"Shove _off_, Black."

Peter rolled his eyes. Immaturity was most certainly the theme of today's story. "Remus was snoring again last night," he explained to James. "And your bed was the farthest away from him."

"Sounded like a bloody fog horn," commented Sirius as he ran his fingers through his tangled, over-grown hair.

"It's not his fault. You know what happens to Remus when he has the flu." James got out of bed and placed his glasses on. "Be nice, he's not feeling well."

"Since when have I been nice to any of you? And why do you think I would start now? He was being so bleeding _loud_." Sirius glanced over at the bed next to the window where Remus Lupin was sleeping, now silently. "I still can't get the ringing in my ears to stop."

"Fine." James grabbed a semi-clean shirt from the foot of his bed and slipped it over his head. "We'll take Moony to Pomfrey's as soon as he wakes up. Does that tickly your fancy, your majesty?"

"Very much so. Thank you, Jim." Sirius smiled widely, his bright blue eyes brimming with good humour.

"James?" Peter lowered his voice, "Do you think Remus's cold has anything to do with . . . you know," he cleared his throat, "his _monthly problem_?"

Sirius suddenly snorted, then quickly covered his mouth to stifle any evidence of laughter. "Oh, come on now," he answered James and Peter's inquisitive looks. "Everything someone mentions 'Remus's monthly problem', you can't help but think of –"

"Oh, we all know what _you_ think of." James rolled his eyes irritably. "And we have a couple weeks until the next full moon cycle, anyways."

Sirius shrugged, that crooked grin still plastered on his face. Sometimes puns were the only thing that kept him going in the morning. A poor-man's high-caffeinated tea. "A '_p'_, an '_m'_, and an '_s'_," Sirius continued forward. "It's one big bloody case of Pre-Moon Syndrome, blokes."

Sirius broke into a fit of high-pitched laughter, giving himself congratulations for being such a comic mastermind. Because all great comedians had to have their share of critics, James swiftly shut Sirius up by delivering a smack up-side the Pun Master's head. Sirius, not wanting to reward his friend by allowing him to have the last say in the matter, pulled James's glasses off and held them out of reach. Finally getting fed up, James relinquished with a swift kick to Sirius's shin and wrenched his glasses out of his friend's hands. Peter quickly backed up to the other side of the dorm, not wanting to be caught in the middle when the two hot-headed bulls pummelled each other within a centimetre of their lives. All impending violence ceased to exist when a soft groan of pain and suffering echoed across the dorm, throwing off everyone's concentration. Remus was sitting up against his headboard, knees curled up his chest. He was pale and shaking; an unusual sight this far from the next full moon.

"I set my alarm clock for a reason," Remus said, his voice dry and shaking. "I would have asked if I wanted to be woken up by the sounds of two immature sixteen-year-olds beating the bleeding shit out of each other."

"Er . . . sorry there." Sirius grinned sheepishly as he began to rub his bruised shin. "How're you feeling, mate?"

"I could use several vulgar curse words to describe the pounding pain in my skull," Remus muttered, his hand rubbing his forehead methodically, "but I won't."

"That bad?" James adjusted his askew glasses and walked over to the foot of Remus's bed. Sirius and Peter followed.

"Worse." Remus fell back into his bed, groaning. "This is no ordinary flu. This is a genetically mutated bacteria that's eating me from the inside out, slowly digesting my internal organs on the way. When it gets tired of me, it's going to burst from my chest and have a bloody picnic—"

He suddenly broke into a deep, hacking cough. Peter jumped back, pressing against the window frame.

"It isn't . . . _contagious_, is it?" Peter asked cautiously.

"Oh yes, Pete." Remus's voice was brimming with both sarcasm and phlegm. "_Extremely._"

"And, oh sweet Lord, _look!_" Sirius stuck an arm under Peter's nose. "I'm catching leprosy! I'm falling apart! _Look!"_

"Ah, we ship him off to a leper colony, then?" James commented. "We finally have a reason to get rid of him."

Sirius stopped acting out his own melodramatic death, his facial expression switching going dead-pan. "I hope you catch Remus's mutant bacteria and die a horrible, painful, and castrating death," he sneered.

"Just as long as you go down with me," James retorted.

"Er . . . I don't think my flu is _deadly_," Remus said slowly. "At least . . . I _hope_ not."

"You're not going to _die_. Sweet Jesus, Remus. It's just a cold. You've been through worse," James said. "We'll take you down to Pomfrey's, she'll give you some medicine that makes steam come out your ears, eyes, and bum, and then you'll be cured. Nothing bad will happen."

Remus gave a soft laugh, which quickly turned into a hacking cough. "That's what you said," he choked out, "last week before the incident with the meat pie and Filibuster Fireworks."

James shrugged, trying to keep nonchalant. "Peter's fully healed now and those weasels didn't give us rabies. What more do you want for me?"

"A normal life would be nice for a change," Remus commented, finally stumbling out of his bed.

"Not a chance in bleeding hell _that's_ going to happen," Sirius snorted. "There's a better chance of Pete punching Snape in the nose then the lot of us getting normal lives."

Peter gave an acute pout. "I resent that."

"You should."

A few more snarky remarks flew across the borders before the Marauders decided to snag a quick breakfast before Remus vacationed at the beautiful and scenic hospital wing. Though the idea of some toast, marmalade, and eggs seemed to be pleasant enough, getting there proved to be much more difficult then first thought. James and Sirius, one on each side, had to guide the woozy Remus down Gryffindor tower. The young werewolf insisted he could steer himself from there on out, but soon found himself leaning over the hand rail of the stairs to the Great Hall, coughing up some not so pleasant mucusy items from his lungs. From there, James grabbed the back of Remus's robes in order to direct him into the Great Hall and down the Gryffindor table. The four boys took a seat, but only three began to exercise their rights as growing adolescents and shovelled food onto waiting plates. The last amigo quietly slid down into his seat, the trip apparently all too much for him, and began to snooze softly.

"Late night for you bints?"

Because their lines of vision were directed exclusively at the toast in front of them, the Marauders didn't notice the frizzy-haired witch whom they had been sitting across from all this time. Of course, throughout the six year the Marauders had known her, Phiona Love usually wasn't found with her pointy nose touching the pages of a text book. In her world, reading for educational purposes was forbidden. She was committing a _sin_ right before the Marauders' eyes.

"Is that a . . ." Sirius clasped a hand to his chest, trying his best to act completely terrified. "A _text_ book? Sweet Lord, don't tell me you've taken up study habits this late in the game."

With her uniquely dead-pan aura, Phiona carefully closed the large, leather-bound book and placed it at her feet. She then picked up a small serving spoon from the table, inspected it closely, and preceded to dip it in the marmalade and fling a spoonful at Sirius. The breakfast spread hit the Marauder square in the forehead.

"Right then." Phiona wiped her hand off on the front of her robes. "What have we learned?"

A bit of marmalade began to creep down the bridge of Sirius's nose. "School work is as good as blasphemy."

"_And_?"

"I shouldn't tease my elders."

"Damn straight, you little wanker."

"Go throw yourself under a train, Phinny."

"Love you too, Black." Phiona's crooked grin spread across her pointed face. "Seven years and I've skived through barely opening a bloody text." She picked up the leather-bound she was reading and let it drop on the table, right into a plate of sausages. "This, my fine bastards, is _research._"

"Is there a difference?" asked Peter cautiously, not wanting to be pelted with marmalade like his companion.

"Of course there is," the frizzy-haired witch replied. "Me mate from the dorms picked it up at the library the other day. It's a list of finishing schools for next year."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, the last blob of marmalade dripping off the tip of his nose. "Finishing schools?"

"Sorry to break it to you, honey, but there's something after Hogwarts."

"I know that," Sirius said irritably. "I just . . . never though that _you_—"

"Would have the brains to move on in the wizarding world?" Phiona provided lightly.

"No," Sirius bit his lower lip. "I just . . . just thought . . ."

"You're digging your own grave, Pads," James warned Sirius, picking up a piece of toast and scraping off the last of the marmalade from his friend's forehead. "Quit while you're ahead."

"Who says he's ahead? He's about seven and a half feet deep in shit already." Phiona smiled slyly and pushed the book off the table. She didn't even wince when it smacked into the marble floor beneath. "So then, what's new with Lupin? You lot throw one hell of a hard-core tea party last night? Or is it just his time of month?"

Sirius abruptly snorted into a bowl of oatmeal, trying to win the fight against the dreaded Pun Monster. James fought the good fight by smacking his companion up-side the head.

"Stuff it, Pads," He said, then turned to Phiona. "Remus caught a flu. Was snoring up something horrible last night – or so I've been told." James finished up by shooting a long glare at Sirius and Peter.

"Ah, I sense _tension_." Phiona leaned forward. "I'm listening, Jimmy. I'm here and I want to _learn._"

James's ears blushed a soft pink, knowing quite well that Phiona Love would never cease to tease him if he told her about the sudden increase of population in his bed.

"Erm, never mind," he said quietly, and then suddenly became quite preoccupied with the plate of eggs before him.

Phiona smiled slyly, glancing at Sirius for an answer.

"Don't look at me," Sirius exclaimed off of his friend's look. He couldn't help but make James Potter's life a little bit brighter. "Ask Jim why his bed was full last night."

Phiona snorted thickly, completely on the verge of hysterics. "Lily finally give in to your masculinity, Prongsey?" she squealed a little Phinny squeal. "You little _stallion_, you."

James buried his face in his hands, sick with embarrassment. He knew that it was only a matter of time until Sirius joined in . . .

"No, not Lily. She's too smart." Sirius gave Phiona a meaningful look.

"Oh, Jim went behind Lil's back?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Who should the girlfriend be jealous of, then?" Phiona leaned in towards Sirius. "Oooo, I bet it's that blond bird from Ravenclaw."

"Please, you two," James muttered in-between his fingers. When Phiona Love and Sirius Black worked together, they formed a power that could drive a man into a insanity ward. "Stop, for the sake of my sanity. Please _stop._"

"Fine then." Phiona leaned back into her seat, her deep brown eyes brimming with good humour. "I'll just fill in the missing pieces with my over imaginative adolescent mind."

James sighed, knowing quite well that he was broken down and defeated. He quickly told the morning's bed-fellows story, stepping on Sirius foot the whole time as a warning to keep his smart-arse remarks to himself. Sirius still snickered uncontrollably, loving the fact that he had placed his best friend in the mother of all awkward situations. Peter, finding this as funny as James did, turned red with embarrassment.

"Oh, this is _priceless._" Phiona cooed. "The Marauders having a ickle slumber party. You should have taken pictures for black mail, Moony. Lupin? Erm . . . earth to _Remus._"

Phiona knocked on Remus's skull with an open fist. The young werewolf had fallen asleep, his head resting next to a plate of sausages. He gave a little grunt as he slowly glanced up from his nap.

"Oh, hullo Phin," Remus mumbled, finally raising his head from the table. "When did you get here?"

Phiona pause and then blinked twice. "Just now," she said with a sarcastic undertone.

Instead of replying, Remus had an onset of hacking coughs. A third year who was sitting next to him quietly moved his plate of breakfast over to the other side of the table.

"You sound like you're giving birth," Phiona commented lightly. "Only, you know, through your mouth."

"Thank you for your brilliant powers of description, Phinny," Remus replied, clearly not amused.

Phiona shrugged. "I do what I can."

"Well then," James started to get out of his seat, "I must thank you, Lady Phinny, for an addition to our horribly eventful morning. Sirius, Peter, and I better get Remus up to Pomfrey's before he infects the whole table."

The third year sitting next to Remus got up and left, holding his hands in front of him like a scrub nurse.

"You said it wasn't contagious," Peter squeaked, also inching away from his ailing friend.

"Oh, for the last time, Peter," Remus said irritably, "it's not con – aa . . . a . . . . AA_CHOOO_!"

Remus sneezed before he could finish. Luckily, Sirius, Peter, and Phiona saw it coming and took refuge under the table. James, his ability to tell the eminent future not up to par, served a fate worse then death.

"Erm . . . 'orry 'bout that, Jambs," Remus said through a dripping nose. "It 'aught me off guard . . ."

James slowly took off his glasses, which were liberally plastered with a substance that had come from Remus's mucus ducts. A look of utter revulsion glazed over his face.

"Oh, that can't be good for your heath, mate." Sirius grimaced as James wiped his face clean of the phlegmy substance.

"That can't be good for _anyone's _health." Phiona added.

"I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_," Remus said, cleaning his nose with the sleeve of his robes. "I'll go to Pomfrey's now. I'll see the lot of you during break."

Remus, still looking quite light-headed, got out of his seat and slowly made his way out of the Great Hall. As he left, Peter glanced nervously at James, who had begun to clean the lenses of his glasses with the table cloth.

"Maybe you should go to the hospital wing too, James," suggested Peter. "You know, just in case."

"Peter, I'm not going to die from being plastered with nose oysters," James said, putting his glasses back on. "I may be mentally scarred for life, but I'm not going to die."

As James spoke, the class bell echoed through the hall, signalling the beginning of the day's lessons. Peter and James lead the way out of the Great Hall, Sirius and Phiona following behind.

"A bag of quid says that Prongs gets violently ill by the end of the day," Sirius said to Phiona out of listening range of his fellow Marauders.

Phiona's dark eyes flashed. She blessed Sirius with a sly smile before she turned the corner to her seventh year Transfiguration class. "You're on, Honey."


	2. James

Well then, after moving across the Pond and then preceding across a strange country, Pezzie has finally settled down in the great nation of Canada. It's so much different then back home (and I can't bloody well understand you mates with your weird accents) but I'm quickly adapting. I've got three years as a writing and publishing apprentice at a local university — I've got to last till then, eh? But, as I just recently found out, this country has all the right sweets I was afraid I was never going to see again. Oy, going cold turkey on Smarties, Yorkies, and Mint Humbugs could have led to the death of me — but I'm spot on right now.

Right then, the little ditty you have below is product of several airplane sessions. Oh, it be a masterpiece, matey. One of my finest. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Of course, the best is yet to come . . .

Phiona and everyone one of her smart quirks is the product of my late night escapades with a mouthful of Mint Humbugs. Two quotes in today's piece are brought to you by 'Family Guy' and 'Billy Madison' as a sort of tribute to a friend of mine who has just recently passed away. If you recognize them, I'm sure you would have made his day.

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Werewolf Fever

CHAPTER TWO:

James

Heavy sheets of rain dropped down from the bloated cloud which circled around Hogwarts. The air was so thickly saturated that a simple breath took in more liquid then oxygen. Seeing the sun asphyxiated by rap-around fog and clouds sent acute depression down the spines of every young Hogwartian. They watched, through Herbology's steamy greenhouses, through Transfiguration's clouded windows, though Potion's . . . erm, brick walls. They watch as part of their world was flooded and washed away. Lunch proved to be its own little private horror on days such as these. Unless you didn't mind a slow death by drowning, no one dared go outside to stretch their legs or picnic out by the lake.

Sirius Black pressed his face into one of the Gryffindor Common Room windows. The rain began to pound harder against the frame; this was Mother Nature's own special way of flipping the bird. She was a vengeful bitch, Sirius decided as he took a step back from the window. He _hated_ being closed in like this — acute fits of claustrophobia hit him hard during rainy days. He could most certainly go outside. Sirius wasn't afraid of a little water — he just had to be a bit cautious. Already, rumours of three Hufflepuffs that had gotten washed away during Care of Magical Creatures had reached Gryffindor Tower. Sirius doubted their truth heavily, but wasn't stupid enough to go outside to sniff out the truth. Corpses bloated with water weren't exactly something to sniff out after a lunch of ketchup and Shepard's pie.

With a melodramatic sigh, Sirius plopped down into a paisley love seat in front of the fireplace. He lazily let his glance drift across from him.

He cleared his throat. "You could try—"

"Not a chance, Black."

"There were only three of them. And they were _Hufflepuffs_ — no great loss."

"I'm not going outside to grab the broomsticks out of the rain."

Sirius let out a whimper. "But water wonks up _wood_, Phinny. The Quidditch shacks going to be washed out."

Phiona looked up from the long piece of parchment she was holding. One of her thin eyebrows began to drift up her forehead, almost disappearing underneath the jungle of frizzy hair. "Washed out?" she repeated.

"_Out_," Sirius confirmed, making a broad motion with his hands. "I reckon you and Jim will have to find mops to ride come next game."

They shared look of deep concern with each other, then slowly began to rise out of their seats. Mother Nature flexed her muscles a bit more, however, and set off a thunder and lightening show that would make Zeus wet himself.

Slowly, Sirius and Phiona sat back down.

"I don't think so."

"Spot on."

"Maybe Jim . . ."

"Sounds good to me."

Silence sounded. Thunder rocked the heavens.

"You _could—"_

"You're lucky I don't have anymore marmalade, Black." Phiona unfolded the parchment she was looking through. "Because I could get very creative with breakfast spreads when properly provoked."

"So I've heard." Sirius scratched the back of his head. "What are you going through anyways, Phin? Can't be homework."

"Far from it." Phiona slipped down to the floor spread out the parchment on the floor. It was a map, old and yellowed with age. Tiny pictures of dragons roamed the continents. "Dragon Sanctuaries of the world. Here's," she pointed out a tiny star in Northern Ireland, "my family's."

Sirius's blue gaze rounded the map. "What's it for?" he asked.

"I'm looking through most of the bigger ones," Phiona explained. "I'm hoping I can pick up an apprenticeship after this year."

Sirius had finished scanning the weathered map. Most of the sanctuaries appeared to be a bit out of range. A majority weren't even on the European continent. "You could always go work for your father," he picked up quickly.

"He'd love it if I would," Phiona shrugged, folding the map up. "But I want _out_, Sirius. Go off someplace . . . _wild_. Asia, Africa, South America — I want to get away."

Sirius sank down in his seat instead of replying. He never knew that Phiona felt this way — leaving her country, her family, her friends behind for some fire-breathing lizards. Leaving _Sirius _behind . . . the thought spun around his mind — after everything they've been through, after building such a strong friendship, Phiona Love would still pack her bags and part ways.

Sirius felt his stomach twist. He had feelings for the witch, there was little doubt about that — but what good would those feelings be if she moved half way across the world?

"Crazy," Sirius muttered to himself. "This is bloody _nuts."_

"Brazil or hazel?"

Sirius blinked, realizing that he was staring intensely at Phiona. "What?"

"If it's nuts," Phiona explained, "I don't recognize the variety."

"So, status quo anti-bellum for you, mates? Or is it just that Phiona can't scrounge together anymore marmalade?"

Remus and Peter appeared in the common room, throwing down their packs and lesson supplies onto the carpet in front of the fireplace. Remus jumped into a chair with a bit more vigour then could have been possible for him this morning. The colour had finally returned to his face. His eyes were no longer red and bloodshot, but back to their normal piercing grey.

Sirius squinted at his friend cautiously. "Feeling . . . _better_ Moony?"

"It's _amazing._" Remus leaned forward in his seat, a broad grin crossing his face. "I was climbing — erm, crawling — up the stairs to the hospital wing when it hit me. I feel_ great_! It felt as though I never even had a flu in the first place."

"Sort of a wham, bam, thank you ma'am?" Phiona commented.

"It's all a bit wonky," Peter remarked. "Colds just don't disappear. It's not humanly possible."

"Moony doesn't really qualify for anything 'humanly', anyways," Sirius pointed out. "That bad-arse werewolf immune system must have smacked the living piss out of that flu."

Remus rolled his eyes and decided not to bless Sirius with a retort. After many years dealing with Black, he realized that sometimes it was just simply easier not to.

"So then," his eyes grazed the map folded in Phiona's hands. "What're you doing, Phinny? Planning to go on a trip?"

"Nope. Just some, erm, Muggle Studies work," Phiona spouted out a bit too quickly as all evidence of the map was stuffed deep into her pockets. She gave a short, sideways glance at Sirius; apparently, her plans for the future were not to be unveiled. It stayed between her and Sirius only.

Remus and Peter, however, were not taking hold of the false bait.

"Since when do you do work?" Peter questioned slowly.

"I do plenty of work," Phiona retorted. "Today in Transfiguration, I made an armadillo out of a toaster."

There was silence between the boys at first. Sirius then decided to test the water and ask the question which was floating in front of him.

"It still had toast coming out of its back, didn't it?"

"I was hungry."

Sirius shrugged, exchanging looks with his fellow Marauders. "Makes sense if you're bloody craz—"

"Peter? Remus? I was — Oh, _Sirius_. Thank God. I thought I would have had to punch the little wanker out myself."

Red hair swirling after her, Lily Evans tore across the common room. In one smooth movement, she grabbed Sirius's arm and began to pull him towards the portrait hole.

Sirius had to dig his heals into the floor so that Lily's pull couldn't affect him anymore. "Hold on a bit, Lil," he said. "Where's the fire?"

"It's _James_," Lily said, spitting out the name like venom. "He's — Oh, he's such a —"

"A knob?" Phiona provided.

"Yes!" Lily's face was red with frustration.

"You mean, more so then usual?" Remus asked flatly.

"_Yes!_" He's . . . Oh, just _come on!_"

With Phiona and the three Marauders in tow, Lily bowled through halls and stairways. They arrived at the library with four out of five quite bemused over the whole situation. James Potter, said knob Phiona was referring to, was sitting amongst a set of tables in the back aisles. His rectangular glasses were tossed to one side, revealing two squinting brown eyes intensely studying a large children's picture book. Perhaps those eyes were slowly processing the fact that the text on his lap was, in fact, up-side down. Or maybe James Potter just simply enjoyed the story of Barty the Poodle much more when the pup was standing on its head.

"He looks fine to me," Sirius said slowly, rubbing the back of his head. "We reckoned Jim was never that strong of a reader, but we —"

"No," Lily interrupted. "He's been a stubborn, erm . . . A bloody—"

"Piker," Phiona supplied.

"A bloody _piker_," Lily finished flawlessly, "all through Herbology."

All five stared intensely at James. It took a few moments for the Gryffindor Seeker to realize he was being watched.

"Oh, it's _you_." James finally tore his attention away from the poodle and placed it on Lily. "Did'ya bring me biscuits and juice?"

"You can't bloody well order me around like that, James Potter!" Lily wailed, her face going red. "I'm not your mum! Or your servant!"

James rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm _hungry,_" he wined. His tone hit a much higher note then usual; to be truthful, his voice now hit notes that shouldn't have been possible for a post-pubescent.

"See what I mean?" Lily said through gritted teeth to Sirius.

"Oy, she's right," Phiona murmured. "If you don't deck him, Black, I most certainly will."

Remus crouched down to James's side. "What the hell is wrong with you, James?" he hissed.

"Nothing," James sneered back in a taunting voice. "What's wrong with_ you?_"

Sirius let out a gruff growl and grabbed James by the collar, pulling his friend out of his seat which, in turn, flung Barty onto the floor. "Stop pissing around, Potter," he growled. "You're acting like an ickle first year Slytherin."

"So," Phiona added, slowly cracking her line of knuckles on her right hand, "we might just bloody well have to _treat_ you like one."

James's eyes went round with fear, swelling up with what seemed to be big juicy tears. "I need an adult!" He squealed at the top of his lungs. "I need an adult!_ I need an —"_

Remus cupped a hand over his friend's over-exuberant mouth. "What happened to him?" he asked Lily.

"I have no idea," she answered as her long fingers delicately began to rub her temples. "He started to act like this during Herbology. Threw a tantrum over a shovel. I had to drag him out of there before Professor Vinion caught him."

Peter blinked, watching thick tears roll down James's cheeks. "He just . . . cracked?"

Lily snapped her fingers. "Just like that."

"Oh, this is bloody _ridiculous_," Sirius snapped. "Jim's just playing us all for fools. Obviously some sort of a stupid prank." He let James fall back into his chair. "You're pitiful," Sirius said to his friend. "You know that, Jim? _Pitiful_."

James curled up in his seat, knees held tightly against his chest. "Stop it, mister!" he squealed. "I don't even _know_ you!"

"Don't _know_. . ." Sirius took a step backward. "What the _hell _happened to you, Jim?"

"Someone must have cast some sort of De-Aging Spell on him," Remus murmured, rubbing the back of his head.

"_Slytherins_," Phiona sneered, eyes narrowing with rage. "Those little _bastards_. They know they can never win the Quidditch Cup when Jim's in good health."

"They cast a spell on him behind our backs," Peter said. "And we have a game tomorrow."

"Oh, how could I have been so_ dense_?" Lily crouched down to James's side, placing his hand in hers. "James? Jamesy? Do you remember any ugly looking blokes using their wand on you?"

James's lower lip trembled. He pulled away from Lily and used both hands to cover his eyes; if he couldn't see those scary strangers, his child mindset reassured him, then it was impossible that they could see him.

"Maybe," said Peter cautiously, "we should tell a Professor. Dumbledore could —"

"We don't know what this _is_, Pete," Phiona exclaimed. "So, I'm sure _that _conversation with Dumbledore wouldn't go so well. Oh, you know: 'Scuse me, Head Master, we reckon our mate's been transformed into a blithering idiot by a band of mystery Slytherins. Could be that or Jimmy may have just finally lost his bleeding mind. Either or, Professor, either or."

"And we're playing Slytherin tomorrow," Sirius groaned. "We need Jim, no matter what condition his sanity is in."

"Well then, what do we do?" Lily asked. "James can't do _anything_ if he's like this."

"We'll skive off from our next class," Remus said. "Everyone except Lily, who has to tell Professor Gemar that James is sick up in the hospital wing. Make something up, Lil — he got his eyebrows burnt off playing with Filibusters. Something believable like that. Sirius and I'll sort through some books to try and get to the bottom of this. Phinny, you can —"

"Kick the bastards that did this," Phiona growled, "until I kill their ability to procreate?"

"It's not quite what I had in mind." Remus placed a hand on Phiona's should. "Just get as much information as you can. Without causing great injury, please."

There was a fire burning beneath Phiona Love's eyes. No being wanted to be in front of that sort of entity. "Can't promise you anything."

"What do I do?" Peter asked Remus. His bashful eyes were locked on the highly dramatic adventures of Barty the Poodle. "I get to stay here with you and Sirius, right?"

" 'Fraid not, Pete." Remus nodded towards James, who was enthusiastically digging for nose oysters. "You've got something much more important to look after."

Peter quickly stepped backwards. "Oh _no_. No no no no." he stammered. "I can't . . . can't bloody well _baby-sit_ James."

"Come off it, Peter," Lily said. "It won't be that bad."

"In fact, I'll switch you," volunteered Sirius. "I'd rather look after Prongs then stay in this musty old stink hole —"

James flicked something off of his finger. The bit of mucus arched beautifully for a landing on the end of Sirius's nose.

"— so I can fucking _murder_ him!"

"You better take this one Peter," Phiona commented as she pulled Sirius off of the attack. "For Jim's safety."

Peter swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He glanced at James, who stared back at him with wide eyes. Peter recognized that expression; he himself knew it well. James felt as though he was a stranger in a strange land — no friendly faces to be found.

James Potter was_ scared_.

"I'll do it," Peter said. "I'll stay with him."

The rain clouds grew bored of Hogwarts and, by time the sun had begun to fall into the horizon, the air rid its body of most impending precipitation.

Sirius and Remus let their eyes wander toward the passing windows as they made their way back from the library. The musty texts Remus thought he could bank on held no answer for them. Hours were spent perusing the aisles — picking through every title that caught their attention; from '_The Book of Nasty Spells You Never Want Your Enemies To Get Hold Of'_ to '_Madam Lunin's Mood Swings and Pre-Menstrual Syndrome Cures'_ — Some, such as the former, led to nothing but dead ends. Most, the latter for example, led to nothing but large bouts of Sirius Black's loud guffaws.

Needless to say, the boys made little ground on the path to curing James Potter. They had skipped Potions in vain and now had to think of a plausible excuse to feed their Professor, who most likely would never buy what they were selling. Their stomachs growled in angst, demanding food from the dinner they had missed. Sirius's mind began to drift from his cursed friend to the stash of chocolate frogs under his bed. His stomach groaned — the thoughts only teased and taunted the empty organ.

"Oy, I'm _starving_ . . ." Sirius wined. "Is it too late to hit up the kitchen elves before bed?"

"Yes. And don't bother to hit up the Slytherins. I already did. Repetitively."

The two Marauders rounded a corner, meeting up with the voice bubbling with resilience. Phiona Love stood her ground in front of the boys, sporting a slight discolouration underneath her right eye.

"Where'd you get _that _little souvenir, Phin?" Remus asked as if he didn't have a perfectly good idea where it had come from.

"Er . . ." Phiona smiled sheepishly, leaning against a suit of armour. "Would you believe I ran into a granite column out in the courtyard?"

"Yes." Sirius played along. "But I'm the gullible Marauder."

"And that, my friend," Phiona slung an arm around Sirius, "is why you're my favourite."

"What _happened_?" Remus pressed.

Phiona gave a little snort. "Lupin, on the other hand, is quickly gaining the spot of my _least _favourite."

"Phiona?"

"I got into a bit of a disagreement."

"A bit?"

"With twenty or so —"

"_Twenty_."

"—Twenty or so Slytherins," Phiona continued on. "But that's not the point."

Remus gave a little sigh. "Then what _is_ the point?"

"The point is I only hit half of them with a diarrhoea hex," the frizzy-haired witch finished. "The other half may only get violently ill now and again, but still — It's not up to my usual standard . . ."

"Did you find anything out about James?" Remus pressed.

Phiona blinked. "James who?"

Sirius let out a slight chuckle in respect to his fellow trouble-maker while the other Marauder pressed his forehead into the local suit of armour. Sometimes, he thought, dealing with Phiona held more hazards then rewards. Which led to the usual question: why the hell did he continue to deal with her at all?

"Honey, you know me. I couldn't pass up the golden opportunity which lay before me." Phiona grinned wickedly, her wild eyes flashing. "Besides, I truly believe the world is a better place when Severus Snape has the runs."

Ah, Remus thought, _that's _why.

"Ha!" Sirius laughed. "You've completed one of my many fantasies, Phiona. Well, on a list it would be above eating a pan of my auntie's brownies and way below a five bird orgy. . ."

"And _that _topped my list of thing I never want to know." Phiona shook her frizzy head and placed a hand on Remus's shoulder. "Seriously though, Moony, I didn't get anything out of the Slytherins. They squealed a lot, but I don't think any of it had to do Jim."

"That's fine, Phin." Remus ran a hand through his hair. "We're on our way to see James, anyways. The library search didn't go well either."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing at all," Sirius said as they started to clear the marble staircase up to Gryffindor tower. "Though, Phinny, I picked up some tips from Madam Lunin that might help me with the birds."

Phiona and Remus exchanged glances with each other as they topped the last stair, arriving in front of the portrait of a chucky woman clan in pink silk and gold bangles. Remus whispered a short Latin phrase, which caused the painting to swing open. The Gryffindor common room lay before them through the portrait hole. Flames were dancing around oak logs in the giant brick fireplace, doing their part to dry the unfortunate souls who were caught out in the downpour hours before. Sirius, Remus, and Phiona made their way through the maze of tables and loveseats towards the stairs which led up to the boy's dormitory.

"Haven't been up here in a while," Phiona commented. "When was it last? Mid-April poker game, right?"

"How could you forget that one?" Sirius smirked. "You lost twenty sickles _and _got caught and thrown out of our dorm room."

"Wonky rule. Why is it that girls can't visit the other species' dormitory? Honestly, what do they think we're going to do up there?"

Remus and Sirius stopped mid-way up the stairs and turned around in order to shoot Phiona a suggestive 'You-Know-Perfectly-Well-What' glare. The frizzy-haired witch snorted.

"Well _that_. Of course there's _that._ But I've got morals, boys."

"You do?"

"Well . . . Yes. At least I think I do. God knows I've never _used_ them before, but I _do_ have them, thank you very—"

"Love! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

The three turned at the top of the stair, taking in the sight of Gryffindor Head Boy. Dantie Greene, though he was a seventh year and on top of his class, stood a head shorter then Sirius and Remus. When his ever-evident frown was paired with his thin, bony face, it seemed as though his head was being weighted down by the shear weight of his expression.

"Hello, Dantie." Phiona quickly let a false smile twist across her face. "We were, erm, just talking about you."

Greene rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to drag you from the boys' dorm, Phiona, until you fully comprehend the meaning?"

"Roughly thirty-seven times." Phiona said. "But I could be wrong."

"No, that sounds about right for you." The Head Boy motioned towards the bottom of the stairs. "Let's make this number thirty-six, shall we? Away from the boys' dormitory, Phiona."

Breathing a short sigh of defeat, Phiona started her way down. "How about," she started, "you forget I was ever here and I treat you to a round at the Three Broomsticks?"

Greene lifted an eyebrow. "Bribery?"

"Oh no, wouldn't think of it." Phiona leaned into Greene, trying desperately to tap into her inner-powers of womanly persuasion. Unfortunately, most common bull frogs held better amorously suggestive techniques then Phiona Love.

"Yes you would." Greene pointed down into the common room. "Let's go, Love. Out."

They started into the room below as Sirius called out, "Phinny! Can I give you a helpful suggestion?"

Phiona and Dantie Greene stopped on the stair's floor rug. "Give it to me straight, Black."

"Seduction."

"Yeah?"

"Doesn't look good on you."

Phiona bit her lower lip. "Really?"

"Meh." Sirius shrugged. "Not so much."

Phiona cheerfully agreed, informed Sirius Black to go copulate vigorously with himself, and then preceded into the Gryffindor Common Room with Head Boy Dantie Greene.

"Was it worth it?" Remus asked his companion as they stepped into the boys' hallway.

"Was what worth it?"

"Was it worth getting yourself marked for murder by Phiona Love," Remus continued, "just to spit out a sarcastic comment?"

Sirius stopped in front of the door to their dormitory into order to give it some thought. "Yes . . . Yes, I believe it was."

Remus opened the door. "She's going to castrate you, you know."

"Yep. Still worth it."

"_What took you two so long?!_"

Peter jumped up from the chair he had been sitting in as he saw his fellow Marauders enter the room. He was holding an old pillow case to one of his arms, cradling it carefully against his chest. He seemed to be about as big of wreck as the state of the room: blankets and robes were strewn around with vengeance. A large purple puddle spread across the middle of the hard wood floor, giving the impression that someone either had yet to perfect their hand-eye coordination or had a nasty urinary tract infection. Crayon markings splattered over the walls, forming some sort of child-like abstract art around the dorm room.

"Yeah." Sirius surveyed the chaos. "Remind me never to let Peter baby-sit any of my future children."

"Jeez, Pete." Remus gave a little grimace. "What the hell happened?"

"_James_." Peter seemed as though he was about to faint from pure exhaustion. "He . . . He got a little high-strung after I gave him some chocolate . . . I tried to stop him, but he_ bit_ me!" He held out his arm which was wrapped carefully in the pillow case.

"Peter." Sirius rolled his eyes. "What did you expect? You gave Jim the child equivalent of Columbian crack-cocaine. I'm surprised he didn't try to fly out the window."

"James _bit_ me!" Peter repeated, apparently not getting the reaction he had hoped for the first time. "It was _bleeding!_ James's teeth broke skin when they clamped onto my bloody arm! He —"

"Settle down, Peter," Remus said, trying to prevent his friend from throwing himself into an aneurysm. "Where's James now?"

Peter bitterly nodded towards Sirius's ruffled bed. James was sleeping peacefully amongst a mound of blankets and pillows. Chocolate smeared around his mouth, evidence of the sugar-rush which had occurred just minutes before.

"If he didn't make such a cute ickle kiddie," Sirius said sarcastically, "I'd have to bloody well _murder_ him for sleeping in my bed. Those stains aren't going to come out. Oy, my mum's going to _kill_—"

"At least he's asleep." Remus collapsed into his own bed. "I've had enough of little kids to last me a couple life times."

"You didn't have to look after him," Peter muttered, peeling a banana peel off of the wall. "My arm's _killing _me. I have a bloody migraine. And . . . Jeez, I don't even remember feeding Jim a banana. What the hell—"

"Aw, poor ickle _baby_," Sirius cooed, kicking off his shoes and started to unbuckle his robes. "Did you want kiss to make it feel all better, Peteykinns?"

Peter frowned, throwing the bit of fruit in the trash can, but said nothing in reply. James began to whimper in his sleep.

"Tomorrow, We'll figure this whole thing out." Remus yawned wide. "We'll get James back to his own self and everything with be back to normal."

Sirius snorted, slipping off his shirt. "We have a Quidditch game against Slytherin tomorrow. We _better _bloody well get things back to normal or we'll . . . Ha, _normal _. . . I say this, of course, as if things were actually normal to begin with." He grabbed a sheet and pillow off of the floor and started towards James's four-post bed. "Now then, if you'll all excuse me, I need my beauty sleep—"

"Um," Peter started meekly, pointing at the bed Sirius was about to claim as his own. "James threw-up in that one."

"Oh, that's _beautiful_," Sirius sneered as he tossed his blanket and pillow on the floor. "The house elves are just going to _love _you in the morning, Peteykinns."


	3. Peter

__

Right then — wicked long chapter we have here, but I hope it's worth your time. I worked hard, changing half of my original rough draft and shifted it into what I have below. And let me tell you, Quidditch is difficult to get on paper, but I believe I did a descent job.

Just a warning, though. This one has a bit more strong language then the rest of them because, well, Peter falls off his wagon. If you are easily offended by jokes about mothers, cow tongues, or —well, to be perfectly honest with you — gonorrhoea then I'd suggest you don't move on with this chapter. In fact, I'd suggest that you never look me up again. I do enjoy my randy jokes, my dears, but I keep it to a minimum for your sake.

On second thought, don't listen to a word I say. The Blighty's not doing so well in the Olympic games, and this gets Pezzie on edge.

Well then, I hope you enjoy.

****

Werewolf Fever

CHAPTER THREE:

__

Peter

A thick, velvet smog dredged the forest floor. Sirius's feet never seemed to touch the dewy ground; they stayed within the clouds. Mist tickled his ankles and lapped at his toes, assuring him that the night brought nothing but sweet harmony for him. Nothing may hurt him tonight. He was wrapped in the security of the canopy of clouds.

_'Sirius . . .'_

The voice drifted up his body, paused at his lips, and then travelled straight through him. Sirius shivered with excitement.

_'Sirius . . .'_

She was there in front of him. The one he was looking for. The one he had been looking for for years. A thin luminous mist surrounded the figure — her translucent blue aura which swept around her feet.

Narrowing his eyes, Sirius took a step forward, cutting through the smog. She was dressed in turquoise robes which seemed to drift on the wind. The colour reflected off the mist, painting her skin with a sea-green glow. This gave her the persona of a nymph; her pointed features and dark eyes pierced right through Sirius. This was _her _forest. _Her _woods.

Her long fingers stretched forward, twisting toward Sirius.

_'Sirius . . .'_

He took a step forward to meet her, holding out his own hand so she could capture it. Her touch was warm and loving, but it set the hairs on the nape of Sirius's neck to stand on end. He pulled his hand back quickly.

"Phiona," he whispers, "Phiona, I'm so sorry"

She tilted her head to one side, letting a strand of hair fall over her dark eyes. Inquisitive, she reached out and ran a hand across Sirius's cheek. Her aura of blue wrapped around him.

_'Sirius!'_

She called to him. He leaned forward, closing his eyes. She pulled him closer, and felt her run a hand through his hair, over his forehead, and across his cheek. But her touch . . . She was so _cold_. He shivered, but he was so — so _close_. A kiss; that was all he wanted. One simple kiss.

'**_Sirius!'_**

So cold. She was damp, almost wet. Her touch was almost . . .

Slimy?

Sirius's eyes shot open, only to find James Potter and Remus Lupin hovering suspiciously over him. Both had unnaturally evil looks on their faces as they patiently watched over their friend. Sirius blinked twice, grimaced and squinted into the light, and then ran a hand over his face. The cold touch he dreamt up still lingered on his face. His fingers, however, ran across something slimy and goose-fleshed — something that was most definitely not part of the dream.

Jerking wide away, Sirius jumped up from the floor and wiped at his face frantically. The mystery object plopped to the ground and stuck there with a wet _squealsh_. Sirius gagged with revulsion.

"What the hell _is_ that thing?" he demanded, pointing at slimy piece of flesh on the hard-wood floor.

"Cow tongue." James grinned wickedly. "I thought this would be the only way you'd get slipped the tongue in bed."

Sirius cursed, rubbing madly at the side of his face. "Potter, you _arse_! Fu—" he suddenly stopped short, finally noticing the change in his friend. Pranks? Involving livestock organs? There was no way a simple child could come up with something like this. This could only be the work of the real James Potter.

"Prongs! You're back! You can play in the Quidditch game today!" Sirius, not able to control himself, forgot about the nasty little prank (as well as all his manly dignity) and gave James a hug.

"Never knew you cared so much, Pads." James grimaced. "Love you too, mate, but you're crushing my ribs."

Sirius turned to Remus. "What'd you do, Moony?" he asked. "How'd you get Jim back?"

"Didn't do a thing." Remus shrugged. "He was his old self when I woke up."

"I don't remember anything," James said, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Nothing at all. When I woke up, Remus had to tell me about it. It's all a bit wonky, if you ask me."

"Curses disappearing after a couple of hours?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That's not . . . _usual_, is it?"

"I should think not." Remus shook his head. "I'm absolutely gobsmacked, mate."

"I'm a bit gobsmacked too, Sirius." There was that grin again. That wicked, You-Know-Damn-Well-I'm-Up-To-No-Good James Potter smirk. "Why on earth were you dreaming about Phinny?"

Sirius stopped short, giving a little wince. "I . . . erm, what are you . . . Uh . . ."

"Oh yes," Remus exchanged a look with James. "What was he on about, Jim?"

"'Oh, I'm sorry Phinny,'" James cooed. "'Oh _Phiona! _You're so _cold. _Let me warm you up a pinch._'"_

"Ah, spot on. What were you two doing Sirius?"

__

"Yes, Padfoot. Please share with Remus and me."

"Exactly how cold was she?"

"Exactly how did you warm her up?"

__

"And I'm sure you were very sorry for something."

__

"Oh, _sorry_. Sorry's just another word for 'I'm a one-night stand, my little wench. Now bugger off.'"  
"You two wankers are going to become _very _sorry." Gritting his teeth, Sirius leapt toward his two friends. He was so blinded by anger that he overshot his landing and hit the floor right next to James sorry little cow tongue.

"This," Sirius grumbled, "will never leave the room."

"Which one?" Remus's voice floated over-head. "That beautiful pounce you just blessed us with or the fact that you what to suss down Phinny?"

Sirius groaned. This morning was making him its bitch.

"Aw, is ickle Pads glad I'm back to normal?" James took a seat next to his fallen comrade. He picked up the tongue, his fingers running over its formaldehyde-covered skin. "You want the dear sweet disembowelled cow piece to help make you feel better?"

Sirius pressed his nose into the hardwood floor. He heard a soft snoozing coming from the bed to his right. "Pete's not up yet, is he?"

"Nope."

"Don't you think," Sirius looked up at James, "that someone should wake him up?"

"Of course." James waved the cow tongue in front of Sirius's nose.

"May I do the honours?"

The goose-fleshed organ exchanged hands. "I'd be insulted if you didn't."

With a twisted mixture of wicked glee and utter revulsion on his face, Sirius stooped over Peter and placed James's new toy lovingly on the sleeping Marauder's forehead. He cooed Peter's name as Remus and James stifled their laughter in the background.

"_Peteykinns . . ."_

The victim's eyes fluttered as he mumbled a string of curse words under his breath.

"Wormtail, you better wakey wakey, eggs and bakey."

A hard groan echoed from the back of Peter's throat. He started to run a tired hand over his eyes and across his cheeks.

"Father Christmas made a late stop," Sirius cackled. "And it looks like you've been a _very naughty boy!"_

Peter's eyes shot open suddenly and his hand immediately moved to his forehead. The cow tongue was waiting there for him, its translucent, jelly-like covering oozing over his fingers. Peter wailed, grabbing the fleshy muscle and flinging it against the far wall.

"Which one of you knobs _did that_?!" he demanded, eyes blazing furiously.

Sirius raised his hand proudly, a thin smirk of satisfaction running rabid across his smug face. "Sorry, Pete," he said. "The alarm clock wasn't working too well, so I took it upon myself to — holy _shit!_"

Instead of finishing his quip, Sirius was forced to dive to the floor. Peter had grabbed his wand off of the bed-side table and was now swarming vengeance upon Sirius with a long string of curses and hexes.

James and Remus took refuge on the other side of the four-post bed. "Erm, Peter," Remus started, peeking over at the rampaging Marauder. "You better be careful with that. It looked like you were _trying_ to hit —"

Another hex flew from Peter's lips, this time hitting Remus in the stomach and flinging him over to one side. He raised his wand once more to finish off Sirius, but was caught in the grip of James.

"Let _go_ of me!" Peter wailed. "Let _go!_"

"Wormtail!" James wrenched both Peter's hands in a tight grasp. "It was just a bloody _joke_, mate."

"Jeez, Pete." Sirius grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck as he and Remus got to their feet. "You could have _killed_ us. When the hell did you learn spells like that?"

Twisting out of James's grip, Peter mumbled something under his breath, eyes narrowed on the floor. Without another word, he grabbed a clean pare of robes off the floor beside his bed and walked out of the dorm, slamming the door behind him.

"Erm, so then." Sirius crinkled his brow in confusion. "Would anyone one like to take a stab and explain _that_?"

"Maybe . . . Maybe he's finally _snapped_." James frowned, leaning against the trunk at the foot of Sirius's bed.

"Oh sweet Lord." Sirius smacked his own forehead. "That tongue thing threw him over the edge. I turned him into a bloody _psychopath_. Thanks a lot, Prongs."

"What? How are you blaming this one on me?"

"It was _your_ stupid cow to begin with!"

"And _you _were the one who used it on Peter!"

"I'll use it on your bloody _mother,_ I will!"

"_Keep my mother out —_"

"Piss off, you two!" Remus's voice topped off the argument. "Peter has _not _gone mad. He just . . . has had a rough couple of days. We all have our times we don't want to deal with any shit. Especially shit that comes from Sirius."

"But that — _Hey_!"

"Remus is right, Pads," James said. "We _have_ always been hard on Peter. Maybe he just doesn't want to deal with it anymore."

"We should go down to breakfast to make sure he's okay," Remus said, pulling a jumper over his pyjamas. "Besides, Jim, you've got a game today. Maybe Pete will cool off by then."

James and Sirius both murmured sounds of agreement and followed Remus out of the dorm room. Sirius kicked the marooned cow tongue across the hard-wood floor.

"What poor cow did you cut that out of anyways, Jim?"

"Your mother."

"Fuck off, Potter."

"Shove it, the both of you!"

The Great Hall was filled, wall to wall, with ravenous pupils gearing up for the impending Quidditch game. The Slytherins boarded down their side of the room quickly and without great bloodshed (the latter being, of course, a bit disappointing); green and silver flooded over the tables and magically-induced snakes curled around bowls of porridge. The Gryffindors, never to be outdone, set huge crimson and gold bon-fires in every one of their empty tea cups. A seventh year topped off their display by kidnapping a Hufflepuff and hexing him to roar every time he opened his mouth.

It was impossible to find the fuming Peter in the feuding throng, so Remus, James and Sirius cut their way into the Gryffindor table without probing through the crowd. Sirius didn't seem to hold any sort of grudge; instead of spending time participating in any sort of search party for their askew friend, the Marauder decided to increase his financial stability and play bookie for the day's match.

"Everything feels as it should be," James sighed, picking through a plate of sausages. "The houses are out for blood and Sirius is out for himself. But _Peter _. . ."

"Peter will cool off on his own. Just takes time," Remus moved a flaming cup away from his orange juice. "You know, he's different then you and Sirius and I. He takes what everybody says about him to heart. Honestly, we've been complete knobs to Pete for a while."

__

James grimaced, not liking to hear the complete truth. He pushed away his plate. "I feel _horrible_ now."

"We'll talk to him after the match," Remus reassured his friend. "Just concentrate on your game. We wouldn't want Sirius to loose any money."

"Now that you put it that way, I might just throw the game. I'd love to see Sirius get his legs broken by a Ravenclaw loan shark."

Phiona suddenly appeared from behind a group of seventh years and their new Hufflepuff mascot. Her hair seemed to have won this morning's battle with her comb, for it was in a higher state of chaos then ever before. It held a bit of Gryffindor spirit, though, decorated in random braids, scarlet ribbon, and golden beads.

"Jamesy," the witch bent down to the Quidditch captain's side, waving a chunk of Honeydukes' finest in front of his nose. "I've got a bit of chocolate for you, honey . . . Okay, Remus you grab his broom — maybe we can lure him onto it with —"

"I'm _fine_ Phinny," James chuckled. "I woke up this morning perfectly fine. Of course, I don't remember a thing to begin with anyways . . . But Remus assured me that—"

"Oh thank _Jehovah_." Phiona exhaled deeply. She placed a hand on James's shoulder and wiggled into the seat between him and Remus. "I thought we would have to get someone to replace you . . . like Sirius. And, honestly sweetheart, I'd rather impale myself on a broomstick then let Black place as our Seeker."

"Love you too, Phin." Sirius closed the books and had made his way back over to the Gryffindor table with a bag full of quid in one hand and a long piece of parchment in the other.

"It's your own damn fault you got kicked off the team in the first place," Phiona snorted. "What was the call again? Oh yes. Improper use of a Beater's club, wasn't it?"

"It was a four hour game," Sirius commented lightly. "At that point, I wasn't too picky about what I hit with it — or where I stuck it, for that matter."

"That poor Ravenclaw bloke," Remus shook his head.

Sirius chortled. "He was an _arse_. He deserved what he got."

"The arse deserved to have something up his—"

"We caught the pun just fine, Phinny."

"Well, Sirius, you deserved what _you_ got, you knob." Phiona rolled her eyes. "I thought James was going to weep like a little girl when Ames suspended you."

"I wasn't even close to tears, Phin," James remarked. "In fact, I had to stop myself from laughing. I reckoned it was only a matter of time until Sirius got canned."

"You're a bastard," Sirius sneered.

James shrugged. "I didn't have to drag you out of bed for practise anymore. It was an extra bonus for me as a captain, mate."

"Bloody hell, kids. Keep the loving to a minimal." Sirius said sarcastically. "Anyways. Phinny, I've got a bit of welly for you. The Slytherins put down five to one that you'll get knocked off your broom during the first five minutes of the game."

"Well then, you better start giving damn good odds that a good portion of the Slytherin team will be brutally beaten before the game even starts." Phiona's dark eyes flashed as she began to climb to her feet. "Now then, boys, you'll have to excuse me. I'm off to do something completely unrelated to the above statement."

"Phin," James caught Phiona by the arm and gave her a look of warning. "Please don't get in trouble before the game. We don't have another Keeper to take your place."

"Jim." Phiona pasted a shocked expression on her face. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not at all."

"Good man."

After successfully skiving off the breakfast which sat cold on his plate, James slowly rose up from the Gryffindor table and started towards the locker rooms with the rest of his team-mates. Compared to the calm and playful state of Phiona and the rest of the Gryffindors, James Potter gave off the jittery air. Of course, this always seemed to be the state the Quidditch captains went through during game day. Even the Slytherin Captain, Dominic Vaulager, was seen staring at his cup of tea for a full twenty minutes as he nervously chewed on his lower lip. But, as the case always evolves, by time these captains get in the air with the crowd below them on their feet, the pitch and the game was _theirs_.

A half hour later, the rest of the Hogwartians started to pile out of the Great Hall, making their way towards the stands of the Quidditch pitch. The crowd moved as one, then branched off to towards the six individual stadium sections which stretched around the field. Even as he climbed the stairs up to the stands, Sirius was stopped by several students who wished to place some last-minute bets with the Marauder.

"My friend." Remus rolled his eyes as Sirius rolled up his parchment of records. "The junior bookie."

"And bloody well proud of it, too." Sirius grinned. "That bloke just placed a bet that Ravenclaw would win by twenty."

"Ravenclaw isn't even —"

"Someone has to take advantage of those of dense mindsets," Sirius continued on. "I have taken it upon myself to do just that."

"You're going to hell."

"Yes. Yes I am."

Remus shrugged, shoving his hands into his pocket as he and Sirius secured seats, "It's going to catch up with you, Pads. What goes around comes around."

Sirius snorted loudly. "Don't tell me you believe in all of that karma shit."

"It's wholesome advice."

"_Arse _wholesome," Sirius commented. "Honestly, only _you_ would take that with a grain of salt. Even Peter, erm . . . Oh, where the hell _is _he?"

Not making an appearance at breakfast was acceptable, but when Peter Pettigrew had yet to be seen at the Quidditch game, Remus and Sirius began to worry. The missing Marauder always made a point of sticking close to his friends during a match, especially when there were Slytherins afoot.

Remus started to get to his feet. "We better go find him."

Sirius put a hand on his friend's shoulder, guiding him back to his seat. "Don't bother. I believe Peter is old enough to travel without supervision."

"It's not that," Remus bit down on his lower lip, glancing down at the people seated in front of him. "He wasn't doing so well this morning, you know."

"I _know_, Remus. Bloody hell, the boy tried to _kill_ me."

"And Peter's usually the acting peace-maker of the group. This morning, he's turned into," Remus bit his lip again, pausing to carefully choose his next words, "an overactive, short-tempered, mini version of _you_."

"And this is," Sirius raised a sarcastic eyebrow, "a bad thing?"

"I don't know what's gotten into him," Remus said. "Maybe we've just been too hard on him lately, but maybe it's something else."

Quite suddenly, a roar erupted from the great mass of Hogwartians in the stands. The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams had arrived onto the field, and were pushing off the pitch. They took to the air, circling hungrily; birds of prey looking for their next kill.

James was leading the Gryffindors around the pitch. The three Chasers, Elwin McKillen, Devon Turner, and Gene Forester were right behind their captain. Brinker Hadley and Thomas Benecke, the two spirited Beaters, came out next. Last, with her frizzy hair waving wildly in the wind, came Phiona, the only female Quidditch player on the pitch. Females of Hogwarts had yet to take to the game; even on Quidditch teams of the world, women weren't usually found on their world-class broomsticks. It was just the way things were. Admittedly, Phiona Love wasn't the most talented Keeper in Hogwarts, almost laughable when compared to some of the other players, but she was good enough to get her job done.

"Oh, for God's sake Moony, sit down and stop worrying," Sirius exclaimed, clapping in-sync with the rest of the Gryffindor fans. "There is no way Peter can cause the world to end in a gory apocalypse, let alone get into any trouble."

"I don't know," Remus said quietly, forgetting to clap with the rest of the Lion supporters. "It's all a bit wonky. First my flu disappears suddenly, then James forgets how old he is and almost gets a right hook from Lily. Now Peter is ready to hex his friends, just over a mindless prank." He lowered his voice considerably. "Something weird is going on here."

"Well, as long as everything's normal." Sirius leaned back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head. "Just calm down and watch the game."

Remus sighed, acutely frustrated with the whole situation, and glanced up as the Gryffindor and Slytherin players began to line up in the middle of the field.

"Here we are, birds and blokes! It's time to see the great game of Quidditch at it's best. Potter and his Gryffindors are ready and willing to completely _slaughter _Vaulager and his lot of Slytherins!"

"A bit more non-partisan, Hillis."

"Just telling it like it is, Professor."

Micah Hillis, an excessively boisterous Gryffindor third year, was calling the game over the loud speaker. Unfortunately for him and his bluntly bias ways, the prude Potions Master, Professor Gemar, was hovering over his shoulder.

"Right then," Micah continued, clearing his throat. "Here comes our referee, Madam Ames, onto the pitch. She releases the two Bludgers, the Golden Snitch, and . . . There's the Quaffle! We're off!"

The Chasers were almost magnetically drawn towards the Quaffle, all diving down upon it at once. As the squabbled commenced, both Keepers rushed in front of the goals at their end as the two Seekers rose high above the game.

"The Quaffle is snatched up by Forester, who is being tracked by two of the Chasers, Vaulager and Mavroules . . . Oh, and Mavroules takes it and sprints the other way like the bloody coward he is." There was a pause, most likely as Gemar shot Hillis an icy glance. "Er . . . Yes, well . . . Here comes Mavroules towards the Gryffindor end and . . . Blimey! Some nice Bludger work by Hadley . . . Knocks Mavroules into next Tuesday!"

A loud cheer of approval came from the Gryffindor supporters as the Slytherin Chaser gripped his broom tightly, still reeling from the pain Brinker Hadley sent his way.

"Right then, here comes McKillen and Turner, passing the Quaffle between the two of them," Micah continued. "The Slytherin beaters, Conte and Markey, are keeping Forester busy at the other end. Oh, bloody hell, Gene! Don't take that sort of crap from those berks!"

As Gemar struggled to take the magic megaphone away from Micah, the crowds watched as Elwin McKillen and Devon Turner sped towards the Slytherin end. With a wild grin on his face, the seventh year Turner flung the Quaffle past the Slytherin Keeper and through a goal hoop.

"Turner scores big at the Slytherin end, no worries!" Micah had apparently gained the trust of Professor Gemar for the time being. "Ten points for the Lions and — oh, wait a moment! What's going on at the Gryffindor end?"

Brinker Hadley and Thomas Benecke, finally tired of seeing one of their Chasers, Gene, being harassed by the Slytherin Beaters took the matter into their own hands. Hadley and Benecke sent the pair of Bludgers pelting towards Conte and Markey. The balls collided with the Slytherins' noses with synchronized crunching noises.

"Oy, they're certainly going to feel that lot in the morning." Micah winced along with the rest of the crowd as he watched Conte and Markey fly with their noses bleeding freely. "Can someone mop that mess up? This little ditty should raise up a penalty that — oh, spot on. There it is."

Madam Ames blew her whistle and waved a yellow flag, awarding the Gryffindors with a penalty for unsportsman-like conduct. The scarlet and gold supporters groaned collectively.

"Unsportsman-like conduct, my arse," Sirius murmured, down in the stands. "Brinker and Tom were doing their job, protecting their Chaser like that."

"And handicapping the Slytherin Beaters while they're at it," Remus commented.

"Again, they were just doing their job."

"Team captain Vaulager takes the penalty shot for Slytherin," Micah announced. "Up against Phiona Love, always a wildcard in these games. She has her good days and her bad, but always a cute piece of crumpet if you ask —"

"We'll never ask you," Professor Gemar's cold comment echoed across the loud-speaker. "Do you're job, Hillis, and announce the game."

"My bad, Professor." Micah cleared his throat again. "Well then, here comes Vaulager with the Quaffle . . . Fakes right . . . Fakes right again . . . Shoots, and — Love neatly picks it off. No worries. No troubles. Very nice."

The Gryffindor crowd cheered appreciatively as Phiona tossed the Quaffle to Devon Turner. As the Gryffindor Chaser sped towards the other end, the two Seekers suddenly caught the attention of the crowd. James had spotted the Golden Snitch and was bolting towards it, hand out stretched, ready to make the catch. The Slytherin Seeker, Atkins, tailed James a couple feet back, a worried expression plastered on his face. There was no way he could catch up to James in time. The Gryffindor supporters cheered wildly, already dreaming of their victory party.

Suddenly, a Bludger came pelting towards James, causing him to veer off course at the last moment. The Bludger, having missed the Gryffindor Seeker, continued on and pounded into Devon Turner. It bounced off the back of his skull, causing his head to jerk forward and collide with the front of his broomstick.

"Oh . . . Oh God. And Turner takes a tumble and hits the pitch _hard_." Micah stood as the crowd collectively rose to their feet, trying to get a better view of Devon Turner's limp body as it landed with a dull thump in the middle of the field. "We need help . . . Can someone send down Pomfrey? Madam Ames is down on the pitch and . . . Devon's not getting up. This is bad and it's not getting any better, kids."

As several Professors rushed onto the field, Phiona had to deal with the three Slytherin Chasers on her own above the chaos.

"Jim!" Phiona yelled up at her captain as she dove back to catch an incoming Quaffle. "Get your arse in gear and catch the bloody Snitch. We can't last without Dev!"

"I'm working on it, Phinny!" James yelled back, letting his eyes drift nervously below as Devon Turner was carried off the pitch.

Back in the stands, Remus and Sirius craned their necks over the students in front of them in order to gain a better look.

"Remember what you said about karma?" Sirius muttered, nodding towards the unconscious body of Devon Turner. He was never a big fan of the seventh year Chaser — Sirius truly believed that there should be only one lady's-man per House. And the handsome Devon was most certainly competition. "Maybe, if we're lucky, his pretty boy face is—"

"Woah," Remus absentmindedly elbowed Sirius. "We're down one player. Don't they stop the game?"

"I'll pretend you weren't so dense," Sirius said irritably, shielding his eyes from the bright sun as he scanned the sky for James. "Of course they don't stop the game. It's not over until someone catches the Snitch."

"So, with Potter out there, this game might last several more hours."

Sirius grimaced as the cold voice hit him from behind. He turned around slowly, finally coming to face a line of Slytherins smirking smugly behind him. Sirius's hands balled into fists, already tiring of the snake-like atmosphere which had suddenly flooded into his territory.

"Down Padfoot," Remus muttered out of the side of his mouth, not even bothering to turn around. "Don't get drawn in."

"Pathetic really." This was Severus Snape, the skinny, hook-nosed sixth year whom Phiona had dealt with last night. He look like had recovered, his skin had taken on his normal sickly glow. He nodded to the sky, where Vaulager made it past Phiona, scoring another ten points. "Can't even scrap together a decent Quidditch team."

A wave of fresh anger flooded Sirius's veins as his fingers twitched subconsciously. Oh, how he'd love to rap them around Snape's scrawny neck and squeeze . . .

"Cat got your tongue, Black?" another Slytherin, this time a seventh year seated above Snape, decided to chime in. He was one of the Malfoy clan — a strong wizarding family that had swarmed around Hogwarts since it's opening. "This is the first time I've heard you when you're not making a complete fool out of yourself."

"Let them go," Remus mumbled calmly. "They want you to throw the first punch. Just let them go . . ."

"Now ickle Black needs someone to baby-sit him?" Nott, a burly seventh year, leaned forward in his seat. "I reckon you're right, Severus. Bloody pathetic, the whole lot of them."

Sirius clenched his jaw, ready to jump all three Slytherins if the chance came about. Remus cleared his throat — not because he wanted to stop his friend from a fight this time, but because he didn't want blood on his robes this early in the morning.

"Ouch, Love is absolutely getting _pummelled _out there." The voice of Micah Hillis came over the loud speaker. "Since the Gryffindor Chasers are outnumbered, they're having a hard time getting the Quaffle back from the Slytherins. The Lion's Beaters are trying their best to help their Keeper out, but — oh . . . Another goal for Slytherin."

The line of snakes behind Sirius and Remus snickered as the green and silver supporters wailed with glory.

"Well, I guess that's what happens when a captain makes bad picks for his team," the Malfoy drolled coldly. "Letting a _woman _play on his team — I thought Potter had a bit more sense than that."

This time Remus jumped to his feet with Sirius, both turning threateningly towards the group of sworn enemies smiling smugly behind them.

"Take that back." Sirius growled through clenched teeth.

Malfoy grinned devilishly. He had caught Black's attention, now it was time to reel him in. "Sirius, my fine lad, even you have to admit that the Quidditch pitch is no place for a woman." He gave a little nod toward Phiona, whose hair was blowing freely in the wind. "If you can really call _that_ a woman. She's more like a rabid animal that should be locked in a cage."

Remus snapped, mentally lowering his guard to meet Sirius. A snarl crossed hid lips and his eyes quickly flashed a vicious yellow. "You're a _bastard_."

Malfoy, Snape, Nott, and the rest of the Slytherins let out a loud laugh, apparently finding the whole thing quite amusing. Sirius was just about to climb over his seat and deal out several bloody lips, when someone came bolting forward and tackled Malfoy, knocking down both Snape and Nott along with him. Sirius paused for a while, taking in the sight of Peter Pettigrew pounding down upon his Slytherin victims, then sounded out with an approving whoop before joining his fellow Marauder in the fray. Several other Gryffindors, quickly catching sight of what was happening, rushed in to enter the brawl. A batch of fuming Slytherins rushed forward next, trying desperately to even up the odds. Soon, both houses were locked in battle with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws cheering madly — no one seemed to remember that a Quidditch game was going on above them all. Even Micah Hillis was too enthralled with the fight in the stands and took to blow by blow commentary.

"Oh, and a nice right hook from Black . . . Pettigrew's holding his own out there! Jeez, even Greene's into the — oh, never mind. Greene gets a free ticket to the hospital wing compliments of Nott's fist!"

"Woah! Woah! _Look at Potter_!"

Someone screamed from outside the fray, catching the collective attention of the stadium and, in turn, placing the fight on a momentary pause. James Potter was streaming towards the Golden Snitch all alone, the Slytherin Seeker hopelessly watching from the other side of the field. Within seconds, James had the tiny game ball clasped tightly in one hand. Madam Ames, who was in the stands trying her best to pry a Gryffindor off of a Slytherin, blew her whistle in order to finish off the game.

"There you have it!" Micah yelled, practically dancing with delight. "Gryffindor 190 . . . Slytherin 170 . . . Guess this shows who the _dominant_ house it, eh? Ha! What a blow—"

A sudden silence bounced over the loud speakers as Micah was made speechless by the appearance of several burly Slytherins, who had bowled their way into the top box. As Micah crawled underneath one of the benches for fear of his life, the fight below commenced.

" . . . And Wormtail ploughs right into them. Came from no where, he did. You should have seen the look on that snake's face — Oy, bloody _brill_."

As they scampered back from a secret party supplies run via tunnel number three to the cellar of Honeydukes, Sirius cheerfully gave James a verbal replay of the Gryffindor and Slytherin battle royál in the stadium. James had missed the better (and messier) part of the fight because several professors had quickly brought it to an end as soon as the whistle was blown.

The huge demand for a victory party sent the two Marauders out as soon as possible. This meant that Quidditch robes smeared with mud and sweat still hung off of James. Sirius, too, decided not to clean himself up for the little trip; he proudly sported a split lip and a torn sleeve, as well as the most enthusiastic black eye in the history of Hogwarts. With his world in disarray, his arms full butterbeer pints, and the prospect of what promised to be one hell of a victory party, Sirius Black was as content as ever.

"I reckon we should sit in front of the Slytherins more often," said Sirius cheerfully. "If it gets us results like that every time, then it might be worth it. Mate, it would just be worth it to see Pete _snap _like that again."

"I'll have to admit that Peter _is_ acting a bit odd," James added as he gave an extra tug to the bag full of celebration supplies he was pulling behind him. "He's almost . . . _dangerous _now."

"Oh, for the love of God, piss _off_ Potter," Sirius interrupted shortly. "You're as bad as Remus. Peter's _fine_. Maybe he's going through a late puberty and that rush of testosterone is finally kicking in."

"Bloody hell," James murmured, pushing open the trap door which led them back into the Hogwarts castle. "That's all we need now — Pettigrew on hormones."

"At least he's not bloody stark raving mad."

"Not yet, anyways."

James and Sirius trudged through dark corridors, rounding the last pair of stairs to Gryffindor tower. They carefully pushed open the portrait hole, which had been left ajar for them by Remus, and entered the common room. The Gryffindor squall quickly fell upon them, tearing through what the two Marauders had brought back from Hogsmeade.

Banners were hung. Bottles were opened. Sweets were thrown into the air. Fireworks were let off. Soon, the tower was absolutely throbbing with celebration.

"You know, the Quidditch part is all well and good." Sirius said to his fellow Marauders as he leaned back into the crimson couch, stealing a pillow out from under Remus. "But, I must say that this," he raised his pint, "makes it all worth it."

Remus smiled and nodded over to the far corner of the room as swallowed a drink from his bottle. "Too bad Greene had to be such a party spoiler. We had to take care of him before he ruined our little celebration."

James leaned forward in his seat. "What did you do?"

"Bound him to a chair," Remus answered mildly. "Had to tape his mouth shut and stuff him in a closet. Never knew how noisy that bugger could be — he was squealing up a storm." he took another swallow. "Gave him a couple kicks, though. That settled him down a bit."

"I've never seen this side of you before, Moony," Sirius commented, marvelling at his companion's irrepressible semi-criminal impulses. "You seemed absolutely chuffed when you leapt over that seat to pound the Slytherins. Now you're making the Head Boy disappear for the night. What the hell happened to the sweet little pup we all knew and loved?"

"Apparently, Peter corrupted him," Remus nodded to the fourth Marauder, who was sitting on a wooden chair facing the roaring fireplace. "He started it all, didn't he?"

James and Sirius craned their necks to gain full sight of Peter.

"I feel a need to congratulate him," Sirius murmured under his breath. "At the same time, however, I feel a need run for my life."

"Should we," James gave Remus a side-ways look, "go talk to him?"

"Are you joking?" Sirius snorted, leaning back in his seat. "I thought I'd never live to say this, but Peter might kick our collective arses." He shook his head. "Peter. Kick. Arses. I think I'm going to need therapy over this one, mates."

"Maybe," Remus pushed a zealous third year out of his way in order to gain a better view of the fireplace, "Pete's doing a bit better. He seemed to have calmed down after taking down Greene — maybe he's settled down from this morning."

The three Marauders grabbed a full glance at Peter Pettigrew, who was taking a finishing swallow of his pint. With a slight growl, he crushed the glass bottle in his hands and threw the remnants in the fire. A bit of unfinished business left in the glass caused the fire to burst; blue and crimson flames licked the top of the fireplace. Gryffindor tower stopped momentarily, watching as the glow of the growing fire threw wicked shadows over Peter's face, but then the noise started up again as if nothing was amiss.

"Doing a bit better you say, Remus?"

"Well . . ."

"He's going to bloody well kill someone."

"I wouldn't go that far."

Peter stuck out a foot in front of a first year crossing in front of him. The underclassman tripped and flew forward onto a table, cracking it in half.

"Right then. He would kill his own mother."

"You speak the truth, mate."

Before anyone had a chance to pry the large oak splinter out of the poor first year's back, there was a loud uproar from the front of the room. Devon Turner had just arrived back from the hospital wing, crooked smile plastered on his face. The fans of the brave Chaser, which included the entire Gryffindor tower sans Sirius, lifted their drinks in the air and let out a deafening cheer.

"Cheers, Dev!" James rose out of his seat, leaving Peter's problems behind him, and made his way through the crowd to meet Turner. "How you feeling, mate? Did the pitch take you hard?  
"Threw me down and raped me, Jim," Turner exclaimed, still grinning. "Just a few broken ribs. Pomfrey patched me up in seconds."

"Spot on." James handed Turner an iced pint of Hogsmeade's finest. "Since you're not hurt, you shouldn't be missing any practises then."

The grin slid off of Turner's face and was quickly replaced by a grimace of pain. "Right, about that. My back's starting to act up. Whiplash, right?"

"Whiplash effects your neck, Dev."

"What did I say? Did I say back? I — I must be a bit, you know, _off_. Probably have a tumour. Or cancer. Or gonorrhoea —"

"Five in the morning, mate. Gonorrhoea or not," James said. "Practise comes first."

Turner grinned again, turning the charm on. Several girls to the side of him went red and started to giggle. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

James rolled his eyes. "Bloody brown-nosier."

"Quidditch Nazi," Turner retorted.

"And there's our pathetic, uncoordinated moron of a Chaser. Here's a bit of a hint, Dev. You _avoid _the Bludgers."

Phiona Love had come strolling through the crowd, still in her stained Quidditch robes. As the first of the Gryffindor players who dove into the little war after James had secured the Snitch, she wore several beautiful souvenirs; this included a healing split lip, a hex burn across her arm, and a light of a bruise forming underneath her left eye.

Devon Turner grin widen further and he opened up his arms, as if he was expecting a hug from the female Keeper. Several fifth year girls sent horrible glares Phiona's way. "Aren't you a little bitch," Devon commented.

"You just figured this out, sweetheart?" Phiona folded her arms, robbing her fellow seventh year of his embrace. "I hope that fall cut your ability to have children in half."

"We were just discussing this, weren't we Dev?" James commented. "He told me that he was raped and got a little package of gonor—"

"Ha!" Phiona gave Devon a playful little shove that pushed him into a crowd of females. One little freckled girl fainted straight away. "Wait till you're little fan club hears about this one."

"Are you kidding, Love? Even if it was true, I'd still get sussed down more then you —"

"Right then." James raised his bottle respectfully. "I'll leave you two at it, then. Have fun with your sexually transmitted diseases, and all that."

He turned, ignoring the two seventh years as they collectively flipped him the bird, and walked back towards the fireplace. James carved through the parting crowd, and saw that his fellow Marauders hadn't left their spot and that Peter had not tackled Sirius in a fit of blind range. Lily Evans had apparently chosen to grace the boys with her presents as well, sitting on the couch next to Sirius.

"_There_ you are." Lily spotted James, narrowing her green eyes as he approached. "Feel fine now, do you? I was afraid I was still dating a child."

"Isn't that illegal in some countries?" Sirius murmured as he sorted through a pile of his winnings from today's bets.

"I was completely fine when I woke up this morning." James, as a second nature, completely ignored Sirius. He took a seat down on the other side of Lily. "Remus couldn't figure it out. I just . . . changed back."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Sounds a bit fishy to me."

"Definitely a herring," Remus agreed. "Like I said before, hexes just don't disappear like that."

"What about Self-Destructing Curses?" Lily asked. "They're only suppose to last a couple of days, then fizz themselves out."

"That's what I first thought, too," Remus answered. "But James spell lasted about twenty-four hours, not forty eight."

"Right." Lily leaned her head into the palms of her hands, letting her eyes drift towards the Filibuster fireworks show to the right of her. "Even Self-Destructing Curses don't destruct _that _quickly. How about —"

Sirius slammed his bursting bag of galleons onto the table, startling Lily and Remus out of their conversation. "Oh for the love of _God_," he spat out. "Will you two stuff it? If you hadn't noticed, James is spot on now. It's done. Game's over, case closed, zip up your fly. You don't need to keep digging up things that are dead and buried."

"I've got to agree with Padfoot on this one," James mumbled. "I'm fine now. We can all move on with our lives."

Lily threw a sharp glare towards James. "Excuse us for being concerned with your health, safety, and well-being," she huffed. "Now, for all I care, you can run head long into a goal post and sink into a coma. I promise you, Remus and I won't feel any remorse or sympathy for you and your fatal injury. I'm sure Sirius will still love you, though, even if you're a lifeless vegetable."

"That's the last time I agree with Sirius," James said. "Lil, I'm —"

James's apology was cut short by a thunderous cheer coming from the back of the room. Devon Turner, with the help of Beaters Brinker Hadley and Thomas Benecke, were busy hoisting what looked like an effigy of one of the Slytherin Quidditch player up in the air with a long nylon rope. When the effigy was tied into place, Turner, Hadley, and Benecke started to carefully aim Filibuster Fireworks at it. Whenever one of the fireworks successfully connected with the Slytherin look-alike, it rewarded the crowd below with a burst of multicoloured sparks.

"Too bad we couldn't get the real thing up there and set it on fire," Sirius muttered in awe of the burning effigy.

"This is much more fun." James smiled. "We don't have to deal with the little squeals of pain this way."

"Incredibly morbid," Remus commented. "Yet incredibly enjoyable at the same time."

It was Phiona Love's turn to carefully take aim and let a firework fly. Hers flew straight through the dummy's stomach, setting the effigy aflame. Within seconds, the Slytherin look-alike was engulfed in flames, then reduced to nothing but ashes.

"Nice shot, you little piss off." Brinker Hadley gave Phiona a friendly little shove, a grin spreading along his freckled face. "You always have to be the one kills the game, don't you?"

Phiona shrugged. "Call it a gift, love."

"I call it sucking all the bloody fun out of it, Phinny." Hadley continued.

"You want something else to set on fire?" Phiona asked, her eyes glowing from the glint of the smouldering effigy above. "Grab Pettigrew and hoist him up there by his smalls."

A collective chortling spread through the common room. Peter, on the other hand, did not find this remark so comical. He got out of his chair and made his way through the crowd toward Phiona, Devon, Brinker, and Thomas. His eyes were locked on the four seventh years.

"See, there you are." Phiona motioned to the incoming Peter, seeing no real anger. "He's coming over. Get the rope ready, boys, this might be fun."

"I don't like to be made the fool, Love," Peter snarled, his fists clenched. "Now, if you don't piss off, you might be the one burning."

Phiona snorted. "Jeez, Peter. Getting a bit snippy, aren't we? Did Sirius turn your toad into a potato again?"

"I'm warning you, Love." Peter gritted his teeth.

"Warning?" Phiona looked as though she was going to burst with laughter. "What are you going to do, Peteykinns? Tell your mummy?"

Peter's right eye twitched as something snapped inside of him. He bolted towards Phiona, who couldn't stop herself from laughing. In one swift movement, Peter let a fist fly, connecting with the side of Phiona's chin.

The room went silent. Sirius jumped to his feet, having no idea what to do or what was happening in front of him. With everything clicking into place, he sprang toward the fight, Remus and James following his lead. As Peter cocked his arm back to let Phiona have another, Sirius grabbed his hand and it wrenched backwards. His right hand caught in Sirius's grasp, Peter quickly pivoted and swung a wild left backwards at his fellow Marauder. Peter's punch caught Sirius square in the nose, knocking him off balance. Before he had any chance to retaliate, Peter threw three more hooks, each one connecting with Sirius's jaw. It took the effort of James, Remus, and Brinker Hadley to pull Peter back, keeping him tightly in their grip and away from Sirius.

"Let go of me, damn you!" Peter wailed, straining madly against his friends restraint. "I'll kill you, Black! Fucking _kill _you!"

As Sirius got back onto his feet, wiping the blood out from under his nose, Peter spat on his fellow Marauder's face in a last ditch effort to provoke him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Phiona had finally recovered from her little rumble and edged up to Sirius's side. "Where do you get the bollocks to pull something like that?"

"You stupid bint!" Peter snarled. "Come over here and finish this! Come on, God damn it!"

Phiona's eyes narrowed and flashed violently. "Do you want to do it or should I?" she asked Sirius.

"Have at it," Sirius answered, rubbing his sore jaw.

Phiona walked up to Peter, who was still fully retrained by James, Remus, and Hadley. Her face twisted into an animal-like snarl before winding up and letting a hard right hook fly at Peter. It connected solidly, causing the Marauder to be instantly knocked unconscious.

"That's done," Sirius muttered. "Game over, case closed, zip up your fly."


	4. Sirius

_Right then, a little shorter then the Peter chapter, but just as refreshing. It's like a freakin' piece of Juicy Fruit, mates. I'm dropping this one off before I dash to __Victoria__ and take up my writing co-op. And talk about stranger in a strange land – I'm still trying to get used to these crazy Canadian accents. Well then, I've got the last two chapters ready to type up, but I'm waiting for your reaction so I can fine-tune them to my audience's liking. So review away, mates – and make Pezzie a happy little bird._

* * *

**Werewolf Fever**

CHAPTER FOUR:

_Sirius_

The sun rose as soon as it had fallen, and James Potter found himself squinting into the bright light streaming through the dorm's window. He gave a little grumble, and then slowly rolled his aching body out of bed. Remus was already wide awake, balancing a large cuppa on a stack of musty old texts. He was chewing on the end of a toast triangle, eyes locked on the book opened in front of him.

"It's _Sunday_, Moony." James stretched wide and winced as several of his vertebrae popped back into line. "I hope you're not doing homework this early — Sirius will kick your sorry arse if you're not procrastinating like we taught you to."

"It's not homework," Remus answered flatly, flipping through several pages as his toast balanced on his knee. "I'm looking up those Self-Destruction Curses that Lily mentioned lest night. They —"

"You got up to _research_?" James interrupted.

"I just want to figure this whole mess out," Remus continued, not looking up from the text he was reading. "The flu from hell? Your four-year-old rantings? Not to mention Peter's little show. Something stinks in the state of Denmark, mate. And it's not the bloody cow tongue."

James rubbed the side of his face roughly. His glance slid towards the four-poster across from him. Peter lay snoozing where he had been thrown the night before. "Right then, even I'll have to admit that yesterday was a one-night wonk fest. Something is definitely wrong with Peter."

"It's not just Peter." Remus suddenly stood up from his bed and began to pace down the floor. "It's _everything_. I _know _that, somehow, all of this nonsense is connected. It's not just some strange coincidence that we're all going completely off of our onions one day at a time." He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. "We've got to find out what's happening before something happens blows up in ours faces. Honestly, Peter's already a handful; what if —"

"Moony." James caught his companion by the shoulder, discontinuing the pacing trend. "If you want to find out what's happening, you've got to settle down first. It doesn't help you if you start hyperventilating. Now, listen to me." Remus sat at the end of his bed, watching James speak. "We can handle Peter; that's fine. Hell, we could bind him to the bed if we absolutely need to. Don't worry about that now. Let's go downstairs for breakfast, do some damage control from last night, then head over to the library."

"Did someone say breakfast?"

Peter had risen out of his bed, rubbing the bruised side of his face. As a precaution, James lifted his wand from his bedside table just to be ready in case his friend decided to repeat yesterday's mindset.

"Sit down, Pettigrew." James growled as both he and Remus rose to face the askew Marauder.

Looking a little pale and quite confused, Peter quickly took a seat on the hardwood floor, his beady eyes locked on the wand pointed at his forehead.

"James, what—"

"You're staying here," James continued, cutting Peter off. "You're staying here and behaving yourself. If you_ ever_ try _anything_ like last night, I will personally —"

"Last night?" Peter's voice quivered, the effect of James's forceful order weighing heavily on him. "What . . . What happened last night?"

"You know damn well what happened," Remus murmured bitterly. "I'd stay out of the seventh years' way from now on. After what you did to Phinny, they're tasting blood in the water. And we're certainly not about to protect you."

Peter gulped hard, losing his ability to speak without stuttering. "Ph-Phiona? I d-don't know what you're t-t-talking about. Honestly, I d-don't."

James raised an eyebrow and lowered his wand. "You don't remember anything?"

Peter shook is head. "I've got such a b-bad _headache _. . . It's like I don't _want_ to remember." He bit his lip and continued. "I did something I'm going to regret, didn't I?"

"I'll say," Remus answered. "Tried to curse Sirius, took on half of the Slytherin house by yourself, and then, to top it all off, you decked Phinny in front everyone in the Common Room."

"I h-h-hit _Phiona_?" Peter groaned, looking nauseous at the very thought. "Oh _God_, I'm going to _die_ . . . I would never, _never —_ She's going to come after me, Remus! Phiona's going to come after me and try to drown me in one of the toilets —"

"Settle down, Peter. I'm sure Phinny will completely understand," Remus blatantly lied.

"But, you're fine now?" James questioned. "You don't feel any great urge to strangle Moony or I?"

"_No!_" Peter said breathlessly, as if the very idea horrified him.

James exchanged a long glance with Remus, who looked as though he was about to burst.

"One day, Jim!" He exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. "One day! I was sick for twenty-four hours! You were out of your bloody mind for twenty-four hours! Peter lost all control of his temper for _twenty-four hours!_ It all fits!"

"Are you saying that some sort of spell was cast on us, but it just . . . disappears after one day?" James asked slowly.

"Not at all," Remus answered bluntly. "Follow me for a moment. When I was sick, I sneezed on you. Remember?"

"How could I ever forget?"

"As soon as I sneezed on you, I felt better. Almost as if the cold had completely disappeared." Remus started to pace around the room again. "Then, just as soon as I fully recovered, you began to act like a child. And, if I remember correctly, Peter told me that you bit him."

"He did." Peter nodded. "So, you're saying that we're . . . transferring a . . . _spell _between us?"

"Spot on." Remus grinned. "When I sneezed on James, he got the bug which made him think he was a child. Then, when James bit you, you got the sudden urge to strangle everyone."

"But _what _are we all catching?" James asked. "We don't have any of the same symptoms. It doesn't make any sense."

Remus, fully stumped with that one, sat on the end of his trunk, his chin resting in the palm of his hands. James took his glasses off and began to rub his temples as Peter coughed uncomfortably.

"Oy, James?"

"Hmmm?"

"I just remembered something."

"What is it, Pete?"

"Something from last night."

"You remember?"

"I think so."

"Spit it out, Peter," Remus interrupted.

"Yeah, that's the problem." Peter bit his lower lip. "I think I spat on Sirius."

James and Remus both swallowed hard, glancing over to the bed were the fourth Marauder was positioned. Unfortunately, there was no Sirius to be found.

"You don't think . . ." Peter started.

"Wouldn't doubt it," replied James. "If I could transfer this curse by biting you, spitting may be a good bet too."

"We need to find him. Fast." Remus began to frantically plough through a pile of laundry at the side of his trunk and finally pulled out his jumper. "Until we know what this is, I don't want it lose on the rest of the school. If Sirius starts running rabid with it, we wont have a bloody chance to con—" Remus stopped suddenly, his jumper half-way over his head. "Did you blokes . . . hear that?"

James and Peter stopped dressing into order to place all extra energy in their powers of hearing.

"What are we listening to?" James whispered.

Narrowing his eyes, Remus began to walk forward towards one of the dorm's large windows. "I can't . . . put my finger on it . . . But—"

With one swift motion, Remus clicked open the latch and swung one of the glass panels open. The sound which had pierced the young lycanthrope's ears finally reached James and Peter. A soft melody floated into the dorm, sounding as though someone was humming a little tune right outside the boy's window. This, of course, was impossible because even the wandering crows couldn't grab hold of the projecting cornerstones which covered Gryffindor Tower. Only someone completely off their bloody onion would dare balance on one of these thin ledges.

"**_Sirius_**_! Are you completely off your bloody onion!?" _Remus dove towards the window, leaning as far out as he could without risking a bone-crushing fall. With one hard pull, he threw Sirius safely back into the room without great injury, then proceeded to lock the window behind him.

Sirius rolled into a sitting position. "Hello and good morning, my friends," he said cheerfully. Mind you, the only time Sirius experienced cheerfulness was when a large pile of illegal betting quid sat on his lap. Make that a large pile of quid or two blond birds; either or, really. Sirius wasn't bias when it came to this sort of cheerfulness, but both at the same time, he admitted, would probably be best. "It is such a beautiful day out, I decided to enjoy it the way nature attended me to."

"By almost breaking your bloody neck?" James exclaimed. "What were you _thinking_, Sirius?"

"I was thinking," Sirius's eyes focused on something far beyond Peter's right ear, "about the children, James . . . The _children _. . ."

Silence.

Remus decided to test the waters first in order to know how deep in shit they were. "What . . . about the children, Pads?"

"They're so . . . _small_."

Swearing angrily, James pulled off his glasses and began to rub his temples. "Not _again_," he muttered. "Peter, you gave the whatsit to Sirius now. Lovely shit, thanks Pete."

Sirius gasped, his eyes rushing back into focus. "James Phineas Potter!" he squealed. "I will not have you utter such vulgarity in my presences. I am sure Remus and Peter would agree with me."

"Yeah," Remus snorted with laughter, "James-_Phineas._ I reckon we'll have to clean your mouth out with soap."

"Oh piss off, you." James gave his chortling friend a shove. "Sirius, you curse more then all three of us put together. Hell, the day isn't complete for you unless you uses the words "Fuck" and "Mother" in the same sentence. Don't you remember?"

"You must have me mistaken," Sirius said solemnly, "with someone else. Mothers are sacred, you know. As is the right of intercourse. Never should the two of them be mixed, my randy fellow."

"Oy," Peter winced, his hands moving to cover his face. "He's _gone_."

* * *

"None of the symptoms are in here. I've been all over this bloody book hundreds of times."

"This is hopeless."

"No, _Padfoot _is hopeless. This is just a really really high obstacle. Keep checking these books — We have to find _something._"

Hordes of various spell books were strung around one corner of the library. In the middle of it all sat James, Remus, and Peter, mechanically sifting through all the texts until they found a wisp of hope for their troubled cause. Sirius was kept on a short leash beside them — literally. One of his wrists had been bound by rope to the chair he was sitting in. Though, as he informed his fellow Marauders, this was a illicit attack on his person that was as good as taking his civil liberties as a human being and flushing them down the parliamentary loo, Sirius soon forgave and forgot, settling himself with a thick leather-bound text titled '_Love, Life, and The Physiological Ability Take Part In Both At The Same Time'._

"I'm hungry," Peter mumbled. "Can't we break for a bit of nosh? The books won't go anywhere if we leave for a bit of —"

James let a book cover slam back into place. "We've got to pin this thing down _now_, Peter. Before something happens and we can't handle it."

"Chin up, my dear fellow," Sirius mumbled airily, still engrossed in his reading. He had picked up the habit of spurting out random bits of encouragement whether the rest of the Marauders asked for it or not.

"But it's like Moony said," Peter continued. He and his other two companions have grown deaf to anything that came out of Sirius's mouth. "None of our symptoms are in any of these curse books."

Remus suddenly shut the text he was searching through. "Maybe . . . Maybe it's not a curse."

"Think out of the box, lad," Sirius cheered his friend on.

"What _else_ could it be?" James asked as he threw a large text at his bound friend. It landed with a crunch on Sirius's right foot. "A genetic phase? A disease? Hell, why couldn't it be a common Hogwartian flu?"

"Flu?" Remus perked up a little, his eyes clearing away the monotony. "Flu? Of_ course!_ That's — that's it!" He jumped out of his seat, stumbled backwards, and trotted on Sirius's already injured foot. "The flu! Wait right here! I've got to get my book from the dorm."

"You've got it, mate." Sirius said through gritted teeth as Remus bolted out of the library. "Um, James, if it's not to much trouble, could you help me to the hospital wing? I believe my right foot has been severely injured. Yes, oh yes, there's Mr. Phalange sticking out of Mr. Right Foot. Could you, James, be so kind and push the bone back into place. If it's not too much—"

"Oh, for the love of _God, _Sirius," James snapped finally. "Would you shut the hell up?"

"James." Peter gave a little wince. "Sirius is sick. We should be supportive."

"We had Phiona deck _you_," James muttered as he leaned back in his seat. "Can't I hit Sirius?"

"Excuse me? Um, the bleeding is started to quicken. The hospital wing would —"

"No, you can't _hit _Sirius." Peter rolled his eyes.

"—would be a lovely place to be and . . . Oh, feeling a bit light headed. Blood loss, you know."

"Just a bit?"

"No hitting, James."

"When you're done with you conversation," Sirius continued to babble, "I think that it would be for the best if I visited the hospital wing. I'll wait here until you can spare the time to . . . . to take me to . . . erm . . ."

For the first time all morning, Sirius Black had seemed to lose his train of thought. He stopped in mid-sentence, a distant look glazing over his expression as he stared right past James and Peter. The other two Marauders blinked several times, suffering from the shock of the sudden silence, then turned to take in what was so interesting. There was only several shelves of books behind them. Books, a large lamp standing in one corner, and a small group of Gryffindor seventh years.

"Oh, my eyes must have gone dead," Sirius murmured to himself, still staring past his friends, "for I see heaven. Tell me, young James, what is that angel's name?"

James raised an eyebrow and glanced around his shoulder again. There was definitely no angels behind him, only a group of seventh years. All five of the senior Hogwartians were sprawled atop a pile of books and parchment; each and every one of them were snoring loudly, the thrills of Athermancy essays all too much for them to handle. Devon Turner was among them. As was Brinker and Gene. And there, easily the loudest snorer of the group, was Phiona Love. She seemed to be hard at work drooling on a large text book.

James snorted thickly, turning back around to face Sirius. "You're not talking about . . . _Phinny_, are you?"

An entranced look spread over Sirius, giving him the impression that he had just been hypnotized. "Yes. Of course . . . Phiona. Phiona Themos Love. How could I forget? Such beauty . . . Such grace . . ."

This threw both James and Peter back several metres. Neither boy had ever thought of Phiona as a thing of beauty, let alone an _angel_. She was pretty, or at least as pretty as someone could be when spending half her time fending off Quaffles and Bludgers; but she could never be mistaken for drop-dead gorgeous. And, as far as grace, Phiona was notorious for tripping over her own feet or performing face-plants on the pitch. Sirius must not have been talking about the Phiona who was, at the time, mumbling something about cheese in her sleep as she gave her behind a quick scratch.

"Did my heart love till now? Oh, forswear it sight," Sirius murmured, his eyes misting over thickly as if he had just been put on a heavy aesthetic. "For I never saw true beauty till this night."

"First of all, Pads, it's in the middle of the day," James muttered, smacking his forehead irritably. "And second of all, if you _ever_ quote Shakespeare again, both Wormtail and I will be forced to kill you."

"I'd never thought I'd live to see the day," Peter said, "when I would willingly agree to murder."

"It's that damn curse — or whatever the hell it is," James replied. "And, truth be told, I'd much rather handle Psychopathic-Pete then Puppy-Love-Sirius right now."

"Psychopathic? Like _serial _killer psychopa—"

Just as James was about to reply, Remus burst into the library with a thick leather-bound text in his arms.

"I've got it. It's all right here." Remus dropped the book down in front of James and Peter. The text looked like it had gone through hell and back without stopping for souvenirs; it's thick spine was torn in several places and its pages were all heavily stained. The words _'Lycanthropic Ailments' _were scrawled across the cover in tight silver letters.

"Lycanthropic?" Peter whispered cautiously. "As in _werewolf _lycanthropic?"

Remus nodded as he started to flip though the pages. "I got it from an uncle who thought my . . . _condition_ was all pretty humorous. I'd never though I'd — ah! Here it is."

He pointed to a passage in the book titled '_Interieus Petitloupe'._ "It's call Inner-Pup Syndrome. It's a sort of chicken pox for werewolves," Remus explained softly. "It's highly contagious, especially from werewolf to human."

"That flu you had was werewolf chicken pox?" Peter said slowly. "And you gave it to us?"

"In layman's terms, yes," Remus continued. "But Interieus Petitloupe effects humans much differently then lycans. I get a common cold, you get an inner child syndrome. Your subconscious comes out and has a field day with you brain."

"Inner child? Subconscious?" James raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that Peter's inner child is a psychopathic killer?"

"Inner child is more of a figure of speech. Subconscious would be a better term to use." Remus's grey eyes scanned over the page. "Interieus Petitloupe toys with a human's personality by taping into a dormant subconscious. Which means your personality does a three-hundred and sixty degree turn and you become a complete opposite of yourself."

Peter's mouth hung agape, blankly looking as if he had gotten lost several kilometres back. James, however, began to catch on.

"That _does _all fit." He bit his lower lip in deep thought. "Peter went from our acting pacifist to a crazed lunatic who decked Phiona in the face—"

"Can we_ please_ forget about that?" Peter asked meekly, burying his face into the palms of his hands. "Because I'm doing everything in my power to wipe it from every portion of my memory."

"Then James," Remus continued, "Mr. Haughty-Taughty Quidditch Captain, became a nose picking four-year old."

"And now Padfoot goes from a sarcastic arse to emotional commandant," James finished. "And, honestly, I liked him better when he was an arse. Just don't tell him I said that."

"Just as long as Sirius keeps the werewolf fever to himself, I'm sure we'll be fine." Remus shut his book and placed a hand on top of the title. "I've got to translate some of the Latin to figure out how to fully destroy this thing. Until then, we've all got to keep a close watch over . . . Padfoot?"

The three Marauders turned to find Sirius's chair without his bottom placed in it. The rope, which looked as though he had gnawed straight through it, lay folded neatly on the book he had been reading.

About three metres away from the Marauders' book fort, Sirius was walking straight towards the back corner, his eyes firmly locked on the snoring Phiona Love. It took several seconds before James, Remus, and Peter realised where their fourth companion was heading. Swearing under his breath, James made a wild grab for Sirius, catching his shoulder and pulling him backwards.

"Take your hands off of me, you dense ignoramus!" Sirius squealed as James grabbed hold of his friend's arms. "Unhand me! You have no —"

Remus quickly clamped a hand over Sirius's mouth, assuring that no one else in the library would hear the extent of the outburst. Many Hogwartians, however, turned their heads towards the Marauders, wondering what on earth the four boys were up to this time. Even the Gryffindor seventh years had been stirred from their nap, drowsily glancing up to see who had disturbed their Athermancy-induced sleep.

Seeing the immediate danger which followed pissing around with a group of already grumpy seventh years, James started to drag Sirius out by the arms while Remus picked up the legs and Peter covered the mouth.

* * *

"But you can't help but feel a bit sorry for him," Peter continued on, taking a large bite out of his chicken noodle soup pie (apparently, the Hogwartian house elves would not be content until they could put every meal in some sort of pie form). "Stuck in the dorm all because of that stupid flu."

"Sirius will be fine, Pete," James said, prodding at his own lunch with an index finger. "We _had_ to tie him to the chair — didn't want to give him a chance to give the flu to someone else."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about _Sirius_. I was talking about _Remus,_" Peter looked down the Gryffindor table then shifted his glance across the Great Hall. "Closed in a room with I'm-So-Bloody-Poetic,-Sonnets-Fly-Out-My-Arse Padfoot . . . How can he stand it?"

"Moony does what he can," James commented. "He probably thinks this is all his fault, so he wants to make it all right again before something else happens."

"Oh, don't say that, James." Peter winced. "I don't thick I could handle anything else bad happening."

"It's fine, Pete. We have Remus." James smiled kindly, trying his best to give his timid friend a bit of confidence. "It's all smooth sailing from here on now that we've found — oh_ shit_ . . . Peter, _hide_! Under the table — _Move_!"

Before Peter had any remote idea of what was going on, James put a hand on his companion's forehead and stuffed him under the table. Just as Peter's head disappeared behind the scarlet tablecloth, an irate frizzy-haired seventh year walked up right behind James, her eyes narrowed into dark slits.

"Er . . . Hallo Phinny." James put on an extremely fake grin. "Long time, no —"

"Cut the flying shit, Potter," Phiona Love said. For once in her life she did not look amused. "Where is he?"

James tried his playing dumb card. "Where's who?"

"Prince Bloody Albert in his Freakin' Can," Phiona sneered. "Oh, you know perfectly well who I mean."

"Er . . . Sirius?"

"Try again."

"Remus?"

"That's strike two, Potter. On strike three, I take out my bat and start _swinging_."

James swallowed, then gave a sheepish smile. He hoped to God that Phiona didn't have any sort of blunt object on her. "Devon?"

"_Pettigrew_!" Phiona burst, finally tiring of running around in circles. "Where is that little rat? We had some unresolved business to attend to." As if dropping a hint of what this so-called 'business' entailed of, she slowly began to crack her knuckles.

James grimaced slightly, knowing Phiona would mould a Picasso painting out of Peter's face if she ever found him. "I haven't seen him, Phin. Maybe you should check with Sirius or Remus."

Phiona rolled her eyes, fully frustrated. "What the hell is going on around here?!" she called to the heavens. "Is it _me_? Am I going _bloody stark raving mad?!"_

"Phiona," started James. "Maybe you should settle—"

"Don't you dare '_Phiona'_ me!" the enraged witch interrupted. "James, I want to know what's going on around here before I kill someone in a fit of blind rage. It's not common to have Peter Pettigrew exercise his usage of a right hook on my face."

"Er . . ." James wracked his brain quickly. "You wouldn't believe Sirius slipped some Unabridged-Anger Pills into Peter's breakfast yesterday, would you?"

"Not at all." Phiona narrowed her eyes once again. "And it's not just Peter, it's the whole lot of you. First Remus catches a cold which makes him feel like week-old road apples. Then you . . . You of all people, start sucking your thumb, calling out for your mummy—"

James glanced around nervously. "Would you mind keeping it down a bit, Phin?"

"Then, to put a sugar-filled icing on the bloody cake, Pettigrew _punches me_." Phiona ignored James's request and continued to ramble on. "And, this morning, I could have sworn that Sirius Black was stalking me over at the library."

"You must have dreamt that last one up," James contradicted. "Sirius was never at the library. You know him — he sleeps in till two and then, even if he gets out of bed during the weekend, he would never go to the library."

"Sorry Jim. I don't usually have dreams about Sirius. And, if I ever did, they would be henceforth referred to as nightmares." Phiona crossed her arms. "I want to know what you're hiding, Potter."

Peter chose this very inopportune moment to let out a little squeak of fear from beneath the table. James gave him a little warning shove with the side of his foot. Thankfully, Phiona was so angry that the sound of a scared refugee underneath the table never reached her ears.

"I'm waiting, Jimmy-Boy."

"Jeez, Phin." James bit his lip. Phiona Love had always been someone whom the Marauders could always place their trust with. She had helped them out of some very tight spots — including a Hallowe'en Ball which may have turned into Remus's last. But this, whatever it was, was something different. James had no idea what they were dealing with and, even though Phiona was useful in her own strange way, involving her may just make things a bit more complicated. So James stalled. "Even I don't know what's going on, Phinny. Nothing makes sense."

"Try me." Phiona raised an exasperated eyebrow. "Or I'll have to find another way to get answers. For instance, I could hunt Pettigrew down like a dog."

Another suspicious squeak came from underneath the table. James gave another kick to his friend, quite a considerable amount harder then the last time.

"Fine." James took a deep breath. If he told Phiona the extent of what was happening, she may be able to help. She certainly couldn't worsen matters. After what Sirius had turned into, things seemed as though they couldn't possibly get any worse. "That flu that Remus caught was . . . Jesus, Phin, maybe Moony should explain—"

"Is that . . . _Yes!_ Oh, my love, I've waited so long for you to be in my arms!"

Phiona and James slowly turned around, both not believing where the voice had come from. There, swaying in-between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, stood Sirius Black. Remnants of rope which were used to tie him to a chair in the dorm were still hanging on his ripped robes. His blue eyes were misted over completely this time. James now clearly saw how things could get much worse. Damn Murphy.

"Phiona Themos Love . . . Oh, what and angel's name!" Sirius cooed, taking a step towards the frizzy-haired witch. "Come! Let me take you away from here! We can count the stars and watch the sunrise . . . _Together_!"

Phiona looked as though she was going to vomit. She exchanged a look of utter revulsion with James's look of complete horror. "This better be some half-arse joke," Phiona growled. "And, even if it is, Jim . . . I'm not laughing."

Sirius spread his arms out wide as if expecting Phiona to run to him and receive an embrace. All Phiona gave him was a dry heave of disgust.

"Jim," she mumbled. "I can't take much more of this."

James did not remark, knowing he had to get Sirius out of the Great Hall as soon as possible. He got out of his seat, leaving Peter under the table, and began to walk towards the poignant Marauder. Before he could make a grab for him, though, Sirius bowled over James into order to get to Phiona's side. He flung his arms around her and, before James could do anything in his power to stop his friend, delivered a hard and passionate kiss. Phiona, not expecting any of this, stumbled blindly and tripped over her own feet; she fell backwards, taking the amorous Sirius Black with her.

"Sweet _Jesus_! Get him out of here, James!"

Remus came bursting through the doors of the Great Hall, looking quite frazzled and rather annoyed. With his help, James was able to pry Sirius away from Phiona, who still lay on the floor; a horrible look of surprise plastered on her face, her mouth parted wordlessly.

Seeing that the frizzy-haired witch was out of commission for the time being, Peter scrambled up from underneath the table to join his friends.

"Remus!" wailed James. "I thought you said you were going to watch him!"

"I _did_," Remus answered, pulling back on Sirius so he couldn't swoop down on Phiona again. "I was reading and . . . drifted off. And when I woke up, he was – _God_, this is my fault."

"Let's just . . . just get him out of here," Peter stammered. "The whole school is watching."

Peter had just made the understatement of the century; Sirius's little love fest had captured the attention of every Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin in the Great Hall. All eyes were on the four Marauders.

"Take Pads back to the room – we'll deal with him there," James said in an undertone. Remus and Peter followed his order by dragging the squirming Sirius down the silent hall and through the large, oak doors. When their sickly companion was safely out of harm's way, James gave a little nod and a chuckle to build some sort of illusion with the onlookers then bent down to Phiona's side.

"Phinny?" he said, his eyes glanced around at the tables above them. There was certainly no lack of an audience. "Phin? Could you sit up a bit for me, mate? We got to clean this all up. Phinny?"

Phiona Love sat up slowly, extremely dazed and bemused. All she could manage to utter were three simple words:

"Holy. Fucking. _Shit_."

* * *

"Sirius snogging Phinny in front of the entire _school_ . . . How the hell are we suppose to explain this one?"

"We can say Pads tapped into Hagrid's secret cider stash."

"So, you reckon we should say he was drunk out of his mind, _then_ attacked Phinny? Great idea, Peter. While we're at it, why don't we add an illegal gambling ring and first degree manslaughter to that list?"

"I was just trying to –"

"Oh, I'm sure we could add something else to that mess – what about a full membership in the Russian Mafia? Sirius looks like a man who could cement a man's feet and throw them into the Siberian Sea."

"Remus," James placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Peter was just trying to help. Settle down mate."

The young werewolf sat down on his bed, grumbling to himself. James distinctly heard the phrase '_my fault'_.

It was several hours after Sirius's little display of affection for Phiona, and the four Marauders were still locked in their dormitory. They had not risked an appearance outside, for fear of another incident like the one before. This had been James's decision, now knowing perfectly well that Murphy's Law never worked for his benefit. Plus, Remus was as high strung about the problem as ever; with several roles of parchment, the text of werewolf aliments, and '_The Latin Book For People Who Can't Read Latin'_, he was desperate to stomp out Interieus Petitloupebefore it hit someone else. Then there was Sirius, who had been hit with a deep sleep as soon as they came back to their room. He was peacefully curled up in one corner of his bed, his arms wrapped around his pillow like a small child holding its teddy bear.

"Anyway, Remus," James gave his friend a little smile. "It's _Sirius_. He's been known to do worse."

"Yes," Peter chipped in. "Remember the incident with the peanut butter and the girls' loo?"

Remus winced slightly, still flipping through pages of his notes. "How could I ever forget?"

"Everyone will just think this is one of our gags," James said. "No one will think twice about it. They'll just forget about it when one of us pulls something even more stupid."

"I don't think it'll slip Phinny's mind that easily," Remus remarked.

James bit his lower lip, weighing in the total velocity of the Phiona Love factor. "She already knows something's not right on our side of the fence," he murmured. "She was nosing around today at lunch – didn't want to tell her because the less people we have involved with the flu, the better. Though, I think Sirius just gave her another reason to throw herself off a cliff and take us down with her."

"Poor Phiona," Peter said softly. "First me and now Sirius. That kiss will really drop her off the deep end. She's going to kill me first, then use my dead body to beat Sirius with. That kiss –"

James's eyes suddenly when wide as something unexpectedly fell into place. "Oh _God_," he murmured. "Sneezing, biting, spitting . . . you don't think the fever could be transferred by . . ._ snogging_?"

All eyes fell upon the peaceful Sirius Black, who was still snoozing quietly on the corner of his bed. James exchanged glances with Remus and Peter, then slowly walked over to the foot of Sirius's mattress. Placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, James roughly rolled Sirius off the bed and onto the hard wooden floor in one swift motion. Sirius awoke and immediately took to cursing at the top of his lungs.

"What the _hell_ was that for, Potter?" Sirius wailed. "You get your chuffs by breaking your mate's _spine_?"

"Yes," replied James flatly, testing how much of the fever had left his companion. "And I also enjoy it immensely when they squeal like little girls as they fall."

Sirius growled, quickly getting to his feet. "Speaking of little girls, you, Potter, are—" Mentally snapping before he finished his insult, Sirius flung himself at James, tackling him to the ground.

There was little flying of fists, for James soon wiggled his way out of the fight and got to his feet next to Remus. There was nothing more refreshing then beating your best mate, but this was neither the time nor the place.

"Was s'matter, Jim?" Sirius stood up, clearly a bit disappointed at his lack of black eyes. "And why're you lot giving me that wonky look all of a sudden?"

"I think," James commented to Remus and Peter as the forth Marauder began to give his behind a little scratch, "that Padfoot is back to normal."

"Normal, eh?" Sirius raised a bemused eyebrow. "Normal compared to what?"

"Normal compared to this morning," Remus replied flatly. "When you were reciting Shakespeare and hugging trees."

"Reciting Who-speare?" Sirius frowned. "What the bloody hell are you going on about?"

"You caught the werewolf fever, Pads. That's what we've all been catching." James sighed. "Got it when Peter spat on you last night. It turned you into an emotional _mess_, it did."

"_Lovely_," Sirius plopped down on the foot of James's bed, rubbing his face irritably. "Couldn't have made a _complete_ fool out of myself, though. I mean, nothing can compare to what _Peter_ did the other night. Right? Mates?" he grimaced off the worried expressions on his friends' faces. "Oh sweet Jesus, I _hate_ that look. That look only means I did something I'm going to regret for the rest of my cursed life . . . so then, have at me. Who did I slobber all over?"

"Slobber, strangely enough, would be the right choice of words to use in this situation," Remus mumbled as his eyes bounced back down to the Latin text in front of him.

"Well then, Pads." James rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Remember . . . remember Moony and I had a bit of a go at your strange dreaming habits the other day? Erm . . . let's just say that, if we weren't mixed up with this fever business, we'd have a bit more material to hang over your head."

Sirius's eyes became the size of dinner plates. The Marauder wasn't known to blush, but, at that point in the conversation, James reckoned he was damn well as close as he'd ever gotten. "I . . . I _couldn't_ have. . . I _didn't _. . . not to _Phinny?"_

"Apparently," Remus sniffed, "your inner child wanted to have Phinny right there on the bloody table."

"Sussed her down like an animal in heat, mate." James shrugged, not doing the best of jobs breaking this lightly to his friend. "You kissed her in front of everyone down in the Great Hall. We tried to stop you, Pads, but . . ."

Sirius couldn't hear the rest of James's speech. Something had fried in the back of his brain and now all he could picture was the face of Phiona Love. Admittedly, he had wanted to take the very action he had so forcefully gone through with – but it wasn't suppose to be like today, when he was under the influence of a nasty werewolf induced sickness. Now. . . now there was no chance of getting closer to Phiona. Of course, there was a great chance that he would get closer with Madam Pomfrey, because the frizzy-haired witch would most certainly give Sirius a reason to spend the rest of his sixth year in the hospital wing.

". . . and now you gave this '_Interieus Petitloupe'_ to Phin," James finished. "Unless you snogged someone _before_ you got to her."

"Thanks, Jim. Make me feel even better about myself," Sirius snapped back irritably. "Phin has this wonky fever because of _me_. Oh, _wank it_ . . . she's _never_ going to talk to me again! Moony . . . Remus, mate – tell me you found a cure."

"Almost." Remus bent back over his book. "Give me a few more minutes and I'll have it."

"Minutes? Try bloody _seconds_." Sirius ran a nervous hair through his overgrown hair. "Phinny might be on a rampage right _now_. She'll be off her onion and giving the fever to someone else – and we'll never catch it from there."

"I doubt Phin's going to do much rampaging," James remarked, taking a seat next to Sirius. "Werewolf fever will give her a personality like . . . erm . . . _Peter_. No offence, Pete."

"Erm . . ." Peter blinked slowly. "None taken?"

"She'll be a calm, quiet, and courteous little lamby-poo," James said with a bit of a grin. "The exact opposite of her normal personality. Don't have a hissy, Pads – this will be _cake_ compared to what we went through with you and Peter."

"This isn't some half-arse sissy virus, though," Sirius grumbled. "It goes for the bloody _bollocks_, this one does. Screws with your brain and turns the right screws just to cause trouble. I mean, do you think I would ever _ever_ do that to Phinny otherwise?"

"With the right amount of liquor in your blood, yes. I'd think you'd absolutely _leap_ on the situation." James dodged Sirius's right hook by jumping off the bed.

"I think Sirius may be right about this fever," Remus put in. "The erm, _lamby-poo_ route's not going to get the required results to transfer Interieus Petitloupe to someone else. It needs its host to be a bit more aggressive to get the job done." He paused for a moment, thinking quickly. "What's the first thing you think of when you hear the name 'Phiona Love'?"

"_'Manslaughter'_, oddly enough," Peter replied bitterly. "My own, if you want to get a bit more particular."

"Erm . . . Don't know. Quidditch?" James shrugged, then shot a mischievous glance at Sirius. "Well, at least we all know what Padfoot thinks about when it comes to all things Phinny."

"I'll kill you right here, Potter—"

"Oh Sirius. You poor diluted fool." James grinned wickedly. "You realize I'm going to hold that kiss over your head for all of eternity, don't you?"

"_Potter_—"

"One question, though. I mean honestly . . . _Phinny?_ She's a nice enough bird, but definitely not the catch of the week. There's hundreds of good-looking girls out there -- Don't put it past me, though. Love Phinny like a sister, but there are _apes_ more lady-like then –"

"Not the time nor the place, gentlemen." Remus had to force Sirius back down into a sitting position before the irritable Marauder strangled James to death. "Werewolf fever, remember? As it gets stronger, the way it affects people will get stronger as well. Phiona's the forth person down its line." He bit his lower lip and shuffled through some Latin. "She's going to turn into something that's hated and feared."

"The only thing I hate at the moment is James," Sirius scoffed, "and, of course, the Slytherins."

"Sort of a requirement, isn't it?" Peter grimaced. "I think every Gryffindor hates the Slytherins."

"Especially Phi—" James's eyes went wide. "Oh _God_, Remus . . . you don't think Phinny's become . . ."

"A Slytherin," Sirius finished flatly. "One bad-arse Slytherin of the Dark Arts."


	5. Phiona

**Title:** Werewolf Fever (05)  
**Author name:** PezMaster  
**Author email:**  
**Category:** Humor  
**Sub Category:** Action/Adventure  
**Keywords:** Sirius Remus Marauders James Phiona  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF  
**Summary:** The Fever has finally run out of Marauders, so it turns to a brand new victim with even greater force. This time around, Werewolf Fever may start to get deadly. And by deadly, I mean mildly threatening. For heavens sake, this is a Riddikulus fic. What do you expect me to do, kill someone off?  
You know, duckies, I might just be crazy enough to do it.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only character I own, sadly, is Phiona T. Love.  
**Author notes:** So, I've let this one sit on the back-burner for a while. Sorry, Duckies. I've become preoccupied with the third Marauder fic in this trilogy. Oh yes, I've gone and said 'third Marauder fic'. I've been working on this mass of Marauderness – covering everything from post-Hogwarts, to pre-Godrick's Hollow. Oh so exciting.  
Because this is my new passion, I've plugged some clues of what's to come in this chapter. See if you can pick any one. It'll be like 'Where's Waldo?' . . . only without Waldo. That bloke scared me, anyways.  
Cheers from Pezzie.

* * *

**Werewolf Fever**

CHAPTER FIVE:

_Phiona_

"For the last time, Black, I _don't know where Phin is_."

"Playing dumb may get the birds steamy, but it's doing absolutely nothing for me."

"You think I'm bloody well lying to you?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do."

Devon Turner's handsome face twitched with acute frustration. "Jim, do you mind calling off your goon?" he said. His green eyes never left Sirius Black for a minute. There was a mutual distrust which flowed between the two Gryffindors, but neither wanted to bring it out. If they truly ever brought everything out into the open, it would only result into two trips to the hospital wing. "Black, if Phin doesn't want to be found, then she won't be found. Especially by _you_."

Sirius's hands squeezed tightly into fists. "I _told_ you," he said. "It was all an accident."

"Right then, what happened? Phinny had something stuck in her teeth and you offered to get it out for her - _without using your hands_?"

Letting out a little groan of anger, Sirius blew off the conversation and walked to the end of the hall. He took a punch at an ancient suit of armour, wishing very much that Turner was inside.

Sirius and James had been rummaging around the castle for signs of Phiona for the past half hour, but were always coming up horribly empty. Conversations, like the present one with Devon Turner, always seemed to arrive at Sirius's public display of unwanted affection. Needless to say, James hoped that Remus and Peter were having better luck finding a cure because the hunt for Phiona Love was going nowhere fast.

"Dev, _please_." James rubbed the side of his face with acute frustration. "Brinker and El told us to come ask _you_. So here we are. Asking you."

Devon Turner shot a sharp look at Sirius, who was continuing to grumble in the background. If James hadn't been captain of the Quidditch team, Turner would have never considered arguing this long with a couple of sixth years. But, the fact was, he was _James Bloody Potter_. The best Seeker Hogwarts had seen in centuries. _This_ Devon Turner wholly respected. "I already told you everything I know," he said. "Brinker and I tried to get her back to Gryffindor Tower - she absolutely cracked after Sirius stuck his tongue half-way down her throat--" There was a echoing '_bang'_ as Sirius took another shot at the armour. "--but she bolted out of the Great Hall before we could talk to her. Haven't seen her since."

"What about class?" Sirius asked from down the hall. "Phin has Charms with you, doesn't she?"

"She wasn't _there_ today." Turner's voice became a bit irked. "She skived off. It's odd, though. Phin told me yesterday that she'd help shrink all of Flitwick's stuff so he'd thick he was getting taller. It's not like Phinny to miss a prank like that."

"I reckon Phinny's not quite herself today," James murmured darkly. "Dev, if you see her, come -"

"Seek you, mon capitane." Turner swept down in an overenthusiastic bow. "Don't worry. I'm as worried about her as you are."

James mumbled a little 'thank you' and then turned down the hall to collect Sirius. When Devon Turner was out of ear-shot, Sirius's face twisted into a horrifying scowl - it was the face of an ex-murderer who was pondering whether or not to get back on the wagon. "One of these days, Jim, Turner's going to finally make me _crack_ and I'm -"

"I know. I know." James rolled his eyes, having gone through this routine before. It was no secret that Devon Turner wasn't Sirius's favourite housemate. In fact, if Turner didn't have that extra fifty pounds of muscle advantage, Sirius would have certainly made his dislike for the seventh day known to all. "One of these days, Turner's going to finally make you crack and you're going to pull out his small intestine and use it as a scarf."

"I believe it was _large_ intestine."

"Right. Large."

"An ascot."

"What?"

"Not a scarf. It was an ascot."

"Spot on," James continued as they rounded the stairs to one of Hogwarts many dungeons. "But before any ascots of any kinds are made, we've got to find Phin."

"Changed my mind."

"_What?_"

"Babushka," Sirius muttered under his breath. "Out of Turner's liver. You know, for my Mum."

"I'm sure she'd love it. Nothing says, _'You're The Best Mummy Ever'_ like a kerchief made out of human organs."

Instead of travelling straight towards the main classrooms, the two boys turned down the staircase towards the old Potions dungeons. Most of the rooms were completely abandoned due to an incident several years back which consisted of a foolish Ravenclaw second year and a bowl of nitro-glyceric acid. To say the least, many unfortunate professors had to move their classrooms for fear of spontaneous combustions. The only students who now ventured down into the old dungeons were those who had a death wish which involved blowing up into many different pieces. Of course, the Marauders made constant trips down there, just for the pure joy of knowing that no one would dare chase after them.

"You know, the more I think about it, the more I have to agree with Devon," James said as he peered into one of the many abandoned classrooms. "If Phin doesn't want to be found, then she won't be found. Devon's got it spot on."

"_Babushka_, Jim."

"Right right," James sighed. "Babushka."

Sirius rolled his eyes irritably. "I can't believe you're listening to that thick-headed, half-arse Chaser instead of your best mate. We'll _find_ Phinny."

James arched an eyebrow. "And how long will it take, Pads?"

Sirius mused over the question for a while then answered articulately, "I give it a week or two. A month at most." He scowled as James snorted in suppressed laughter. "Well, what do you expect? A bloody sign from God? Someone's going to come bolting down the hall, screaming bloody Apocalypse at the top of their lungs?"

On some horribly ironic cue, echoes of a scream streamed down the empty halls. James and Sirius turned around quickly, catching sight of the deathly pale Dantie Greene stumbling down the hallway. He looked as though he had been through an ordeal - there were hex marks burnt across his face and down his ripped robes. When the Head Boy arrived by the two Marauders, he dropped down and clung to James's leg as if his life depended on it.

James grimaced, patting the upperclassman's head awkwardly. "Erm . . . Hallo, Dantie. Any troubles?"

"She tried to _kill_ me!" Greene burst, his voice absolutely screeching. "I knew something was wrong with her . . . doing something dangerous . . . oh, and her _eyes_! She going to come and _kill us all! Run! For the love of God, **Run**!"_

"You were saying, Sirius?"

"Fuck off."

Before Greene had a chance to bolt off again in a fit of insanity, Sirius picked him up by the neck of his Head Boy robes. "Who's trying to kill you, Greene?" the Marauder pressed. "Who'd you see? Phiona Love? Did you see Phiona?"

Dantie Greene let out a little whimper of terror. The very _name_ brought fear upon him. "Look, just - just let me go. I don't want to die. I've got my whole life in front of me. I don't want to--"

"No one's going to die," James pushed forward. "Dantie, this is important. Was Phiona Love the one you saw?"

"_Yes!_" Greene wailed, a foam-like spittle forming on the corners of his mouth. "Like I said before - bend down and kiss your arse good-bye, mates. She's ready to bring the whole bloody castle down!"

Shocked and almost appalled at the Head Boy's St. Mungo-like behaviour, Sirius un-wrenched his hands from Greene's robes. Realizing that he had been set free, Greene began the long marathon down the corridor towards freedom. James, however, made the escape attempt a short one by sticking his foot in between the seventh year and his exit. Dantie Greene was sent flying, landing with a terrible skid on the cobblestone ground. In dumbfounded wonder, he touched the side of his face then examined his tainted fingers which carried off his crimson blood. He stared at James above as the Marauder took out his wand and began twirling it between his thumb and forefinger.

"What . . . what the hell do you think you're doing?" the Head Boy demanded, his voice losing what authority it had left.

"Sorry, Greene," James apologized. "We can't have you buggering up the whole castle. Don't want Phiona hurt, you understand."

Sirius picked up his friend's lead quickly and also brandished his wand. "This is our problem, not Hogwarts'. James and I need to deal with it on our own - what ever _it_ is. Sorry, mate." He pointed his wand directly in between Greene's eyes. "_Obliviate_"

Before Greene could open his mouth to take points from Gryffindor (or plead for his life, for that matter), the spell hit him. He was only able to utter a pitiful squeak as his pupils dilated violently. There was a small gurgling sound at the back of his throat, which was followed by a fit of rapid blinking.

"Erm . . . hello." Greene stared up at the two Marauders with unbelievably wide eyes. "Who are you blokes?"

"Ghosts of Christmas past," James said flatly as he pulled Greene to his feet. "You should bugger out of here quick, my friend."

"Should I?" Greene glanced around. "Now, where exactly am I?"

"Antarctica," Sirius replied as he began to shove Greene towards the staircase behind them. "I reckon you should go and check on the penguins."

Greene scratched the back of his head in total bemusement. "Penguins, eh?" he said as he continued to shuffle out of the dungeons. "Well then, I guess I _should_ take a look at them."

Leaving Greene to exit on his own tainted ability, James and Sirius bolted off the way the Head Boy had come from. It was there they heard Phiona Love's voice ricocheting through the end of the corridor - riddled with a thick string of ancient Latin. A low green glow began to sift from one of the abandon classrooms on the far right. Without so much as an exchanging glance, the two Marauders moved into the doorway of the glowing classroom and slowly started inside.

The room had obviously been one of Hogwarts' biggest Potions classes at one point in time; stadium-like seats sprouted up towards the high ceiling, circling the perimeter. Gothic pillars held up hand-marked wall supports, which were scattered with carvings of wild flowers and winding vines. A large silver cauldron stood on a wooden tripod in the very centre of the room.

"Can't see her," Sirius squinted into the fog.

"How could that be, though?" James whispered. "She _was_ here. We could _hear_ her in--"

_"WHAT MORTAL FOOL IS THIS?"_

"Reckoned we found her, Jim," Sirius quipped as both Marauders stumbled away from the thick, demonic voice which echoed off the high ceiling. Seeing the figure first, Sirius grabbed James's shoulder tightly and directed his friend's head towards the centre of the room.

James's eyes shot open wide as soon as she came into his line of sight. Standing in the deep shadows, Phiona Love slowly brandished her wand.

Sirius opened his mouth to call to witch, but he was quickly silenced. Something hit both boys in the stomach, making the air within them rush out of their lungs, leaving them wheezing and gasping for a full breath.

Sirius dropped to his knees first, hands clinging to his throat. Each shallow breath felt heavy in his chest, as if it had more substance then air. There was came a '_thump'_ behind Sirius as James finally crumbled to the ground as well, choking and gasping.

Phiona Love was suffocating them to death.

_"What ever is the matter?"_ the cold voice reverberated around the room. Sirius wrenched his head up, only to meet a pair of horribly dead eyes. No - no, they were not eyes. They were sickening white orbs which seemed to have the power to pierce right through the Marauder. Phiona Love was standing over him, looking as though she had just crawled out from the grave. She smiled, making Sirius grimaced with an icy fear. _"Are the mortals afraid of death?"_

Vision throbbing, Sirius closed his eyes tightly. In a few seconds, his consciousness slid away.

Down into a hateful darkness.

* * *

"Ph - _Phiona!"_

Sirius sat up suddenly, already pleading with his friend not to kill. Then . . . he realized he could _breathe_ again. He closed his eyes and let the pure air fill his lungs.

"Took you long enough, Pads. You okay?"

James's was in the four-poster next to Sirius, a bowl of broth in his hands. Remus and Peter were seated at the end of the bed, each with matching expressions of concern on their faces.

They were back in their own dorm room, Sirius realized. No where near Phiona and the death which she wished to produce for him. "Oh _God_," he croaked. "I feel like I've been mauled by a hippogriff. How'd we get here?"

"Dantie Greene came stumbling into the common room, ranting something about penguins in the old dungeons." Remus gave a half smile. "We knew you blokes had to be behind it, so Pete and I went looking for you."

"You were both passed out when we found you," Peter continued. "Had you drag you back here - what happened to you, anyways?"

Sirius exchanged a concerned look with James. "Phinny," the latter Marauder sighed. "She tried to kill us."

"_Kill_ you?" Peter stared wide-eyes. "Are you _sure_?"

"Oh yes, well . . . we could be mistaken." Sirius rubbed the side of his throat. It still ached from its brisk depletion of oxygen. "Maybe suffocating someone to death is her new way of saying 'how do you do'."

"As a personal favour for me, Sirius. Please don't kiss any girls _ever again_," James commented darkly.

"The fever must have hit her harder then we expected," Remus commented.

Sirius scoffed hollowly. "A simple understatement," he murmured. "She wasn't just a smarmy, egotistical Slytherin. She was . . . _evil_."

"You could see it in her eyes," James put in. "Right Pads?"

Sirius nodded. Phiona's eyes, once spirited and lively, were now cold and dead. The very apparitions nightmares were made out of. "Have you found anything to help her, Moony?"

"I found something that might help _us_." Remus took out several pieces of folded parchment from his side pocket and slowly laid them out on James's bed. "I've worked a good half of the translations out from my book. It looks like the virus is a bit more like chicken pox then we first thought."

"Right then," Sirius remarked. "So we're all going to break out in big ugly blotches. I might as well '_Avada__ Kedavra'_ myself right now."

"Nothing like that, Sirius. And stop being so bloody melodramatic about it." Remus rolled his eyes in disgust then ran a finger along some text on the parchment. "It says here that a human can only be affected by Interieus Petitloupe once, just like chicken pox."

"So, once you catch it once, you can't catch it again?" Peter questioned.

"Oh, you can still catch it - you just won't be _affected_ by it," Remus corrected. "Let's say Phin sneezes on James. Jim wouldn't become a four year old again - he'd just be struck with a hard flu."

"Like the one you had?" James asked.

"Yes. Same symptoms," Remus confirmed. "Only, the virus was forming in my body, it would die down in yours."

"Wait a moment." James snapped to attention, something sparking behind his hazel eyes. "Did you say _die_?"

Remus blinked, as if it just struck him as well. "I did, didn't I?"

"So, if the virus hits someone who's already had it before." Wheels were spinning faster and faster in James's head. "Then it dies."

"I - believe so. The translations might be a bit--"

"Bloody _brilliant!_" James exclaimed "All we have to do is get the virus from Phinny to one of us."

"This is going to be _so _bloody _simple. _What could be easier then . . . Oh. Oh, wait a moment." Sirius bit his lower lip, pretending to sink into deep thought. "Didn't . . . Didn't Phinny try to _murder us both?_ Dear oh dear. That might be a bitty problem, eh? It might be a problem that Phiona's turned into a _bloody psychopathic killer!"_

The energy in the room fell off a high cliff into a low valley filled with sharp, point rocks. James shifted restlessly in his bed, wishing his friend wasn't so right. "Padfoot's got a point -"

"A _massive _point."

"--got a massive point here," James continued. "Phinny's not going to tolerate us stalking her."

Sirius gave a hard sigh. "But that wasn't _our_ Phinny," he grumbled. "There was no Phiona T. Love left in that thing. It was pure, one-hundred percent über dark magic."

"Right," Remus agreed. "Whatever's back in the dungeons isn't going to remember who we are. It'll probably just kill us on the spot."

Sirius gave his sore throat a pity-rub. "Point taken."

"Absolutely _corking_. What are we supposed to do now?" James murmured. "No one in their right mind would go -"

"I'll do it."

Three shocked Marauders turned towards Sirius Black, who shrugged sheepishly. "I'll do it," he repeated.

"Pads." Remus raised a questioning eyebrow. "When Jim said 'nobody in their right mind', you didn't have to prove his point just for a laugh."

"I'm not being funny," Sirius insisted.

"Stop trying to be the bloody hero." James crossed his arms and scoffed in disbelief. "Remember what happened down in the dungeons? Phin tried to _kill_ you. Kill you without a second thought. She's powerful enough to create the Apocalypse. Does _that_ sift through your thick head all right, Sirius? Arma-bloody-geddon. The end, fini, doomsday, close the door and turn out the lights forever because no one's coming home."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Peter, did you let this bloke take your job as acting pessimist? I'd sue, if I were you, because he's not doing a very good job. He's just being bloody _annoying_."

"I'm not being pessimistic. For once in my life, I'm being sensible." James shook his head in frustration. "I don't want anyone scraping your liquefied body off the dungeon wall, Sirius."

"Understandable." Sirius shrugged the notion off and stepped out of the bed. His body ached in rebellion. "But I'm the one who gave Phin the fever. I should be the one who stops it."

"Fine Black, what are you going to do? Please inform us of this masterful plan you have in store for us. Are you going to politely ask her to blow nose oysters at you?" James made a wide motion with his hands, as if acting out the scene. "Er, excuse me, Evil Phinny. I was just wondering if you could use my face as a handkerchief before you cause the unholy Apocalypse. You know, if you don't mind. Oh sure, castration? Disembowelment? Yes, sounds like a lovely way for me to die, thank you."

"Fine, Potter." Sirius frowned. "If I don't step up, who will?"

James clenched his fists. "_I_ will. I don't want to see you or anyone else killed."

"So you're going to go and get yourself killed instead. There's some bloody logic, for you," Sirius growled. "Who's playing the bloody hero now, Potter?"

"Oh piss _off_, Black!"

"Scat queen."

"Arse-bandit!"

"_Fuc_--"

"Shove it, the both of you!" Before fists could be swung, Remus put out the call to cease and desist. "You two and your inferiority complexes are suffocating Pete and me. Why don't we step back and think for a moment before we jump in head first."

"It was _this_ pillow-biter that started the whole thing."

"Fuck a sheep, Potter."

"Will the both of you _piss off?_"

Peter, who was all too used to this sort of bickering and knew to stay quite a ways away from it, took the moment to ponder. Was there anything he knew . . . anything at all . . . that could help fix this mess. He thought hard, trying to remember - "Inferiority complexes!"

"Yes, Wormtail," said Remus slowly, thrown a bit backwards by Peter's outburst. "We just went through this. Sirius and James both have matching -"

"No, not _that_." Peter shook his head. "Remember in History of Magic class when we went over the dark wizards of the Dark Ages?"

"I was probably sleeping," James said promptly.

"I was probably _trying_ to sleep," Sirius added, not to be out done, "but Jim's snoring kept me up."

Remus rolled his eyes. "_I_ remember, Peter," he said. "Those were a bunch of evil blokes. What with casting the Black Death Curse and all. The Muggles thought it was all a _plague._"

"Yes, but remember what Professor Binns told us about them?" Peter's speech quickened, as though he was worried that he's soon forget the information which orbited on the tip of his tongue. "They thrived on the confidence that their minions gave them. They absolutely love when people grovelled at their feet."

"Ego-centric Dark Wizards," James said. "Nothing new. What's the catch, Pete?"

"Phiona sounds like she's become the type of powerful witch you could only find back in the Dark Ages," Peter continued hastily. "And those kinds of wizards and witches were always looking for devoted followers who'd do their dirty work for them."

"Are you suggesting that we throw ourselves at Phinny's feet," Sirius raised an eyebrow, "and become one of her cronies?"

"Just long enough to get close to her without having her kill us," Peter confirmed.

"You know, that might just work," Remus said, causing the shorter Marauder to beam with pride. "All Dark Witches need someone to brown nose them. Phinny might just go for it."

"Then, after we get close enough to gain her trust," James continued, "we'll hit her with some extra-strength sneezing pepper."

"She'll be snotting up all over the place," Sirius exclaimed happily.

"Right then." Remus scratched the back of his head. "Which one of us is going to be the guinea pig? I'd gladly volunteer, but, you know, I'm not human. If I caught the fever again, we'd just start this whole mess all over again."

Peter gave out a little wheeze of acute fear. He just came up with the idea - surely no one would expect him to bloody well carry out with it. It was apparent that he'd much rather stick his head in a dragon's mouth then face down Evil Phiona. This, then, only left James and Sirius.

"I've got this one, Padfoot," James said before Sirius had time to open his mouth. "I'd just feel better about his if no one else is in danger. I can handle myself just fine."

"_Christ_, Potter." Sirius grimaced in disgust. "No one's going to _die_. No one's going to get _killed_."

There was an awkward silence which spread through the dorm room like a hard wind. Each one of the Marauders knew perfectly well that the odds were against them. The only way they could get out of this without risking their own necks was if they informed the professors of all that had happened. Of course that, in turn, would most likely result in James, Sirius, and Peter's expulsion from school; Remus facing the wrath of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures; and Phiona . . . because of her threat, the Ministry would surely have her quickly disposed of. No, it was up to the Marauders and the Marauders alone.

"I'll make sure no one gets killed," James pledged. "Now, are we all in agreement? Sirius?"

Sirius took a deep breath. He had an odd feeling stuck in the pit of his stomach. The feeling that Phiona was, for some reason, _his_ responsibility. _His_ job. And there was nothing James could do to stop him. "You're an _arse_," Sirius replied.

"Right then." James let a soft grin cross his face as he opened his drawer to retrieve a canister of sneezing pepper. "The lot of you should stay here. I'll be back before you know it."

Sirius's eyes narrowed. There was _nothing_ James could do to stop him.

* * *

"Come _on_, Potter. At least let me come. You know, I'm always useful to have around when evil sprouts up."

"You're not being very useful now, Sirius. Now bugger off."

"No. Listen to me. We said that Phin's become a daemonic witch from the Dark Ages, right? And the really nasty ones came from France, you know. You'll need me there to . . . erm . . . _interpret._"

"You're stretching that one, Pads. Besides, the only phrases you know in French have to do with vegetables, alcoholic drinks, or sexual innuendos."

"Right. You're point is?"

"Unless Phin says she wants a turnip, a shot of vodka, or a wild orgy on table, then you wouldn't be that much help."

"Got me there. Don't know the French word for table."

James finally stopped walking down the dark corridor in order to turn and face his friend, who had been keeping pace with James ever since they stepped out of the dorm room. "Sirius, I know Phinny's important to you. It might not go smoothly, but I'll get it done. Do you trust me?"

Sirius's mouth split agape, his brain not providing the words he so desperately needed at that point. Both of the Marauders cared for Phiona deeply but, if the plan took a turn for the worse, Sirius knew that James was the only one who could pull out his wand and use it against the witch. If this was what it would have to come to, Sirius trusted James's judgement more than his own.

"I'll be right back, Padfoot. I promise." Knowing that Sirius would never give him an answer, James offered his friend a few simple words of encouragement, then quickly disappeared down the dark corridor. Sirius was left alone, his mouth still hanging open uselessly.

To restate the obvious, Sirius would never doubt James Potter. He knew for a fact that his fellow Marauder would be back after his dealings with Phiona - whether he'd come back in a little pine box or not would be the question. And, since Sirius detested the smell of heavily lacquered pine, he'd very much prefer if James came back in one fully functioning piece.

Before he could let his conscience give him another swift kick to the groin, Sirius set off in the direction in which James had exited. He jogged lightly through the dim corridors, down a flight of marble stairs, and across the hazy Slytherin wing. By time he made it down to the abandon dungeons, Sirius had to stop for a moment to work out the stitch he had formed on his side. As it happened, however, Sirius had seemed to place himself right in the path of two very invisible Marauders barrelling down the hall. With one swift collision, bodies flew, curse words sailed, and one very worn invisibility cloak fluttered to the ground.

"Hullo, Padfoot." Remus put on a sheepish grin as he slowly got back on his feet. "Fancy meeting you here, eh? Peter and I were on our way to the library. Got a bit turned around, didn't we?'

"Library, my arse." Sirius curved an eyebrow, still sitting on the floor with his legs sprawled out in front of him. "You're coming down to make sure Phin doesn't disembowel James and roast him on the spit."

"Actually, if I would've known that there was a chance of any sort of disembowelment action," Peter used a pillar to prop himself up, "then I would have stayed in the dorm."

"How'd you lot get _out_ of the dorm, anyways?" Sirius climbed to his feet as well. "Past curfew with the prefects circling like hyenas - You . . . You didn't kill anyone, did you?"

Remus rolled his eyes as he picked up the Invisibility Cloak and waved it in front of Sirius's nose. "Jim wasn't using it at the time," he said. "So we borrowed it."

Sirius gave a little groan. "_Idiot_."

"Bastard," Remus replied quickly.

"No no." Sirius snatched the cloak from his friend's hands and stuffed it into a side pocket. "I was calling _myself_ an idiot for not thinking of that first. I had to convince one of our prefects that I had explosive diarrhoea and had to run off to the loo."

"Oh," Remus said with a slight chuckle. "Well, then I retract the bastard statement."

"Thanks."

"For a later date, of course."

"Piss _off_."

"I'd hate to interrupt this thoroughly useless conversation," Peter quipped, ringing his hands nervously. "But, in a few minutes, James plus Evil Phiona might just equal a lot of splattered entrails."

"Pete's right." Remus grimaced slightly. "And quite graphic, may I add."

"Right then." Sirius nodded down the hall. "Let's go give Jim a bit of help."

With Sirius leading the way, the three Gryffindors marched down deeper into the bowels of the abandon dungeons. It stank of sulphide more then usual that night; the acidic odour passed by slowly, taking its own sweet time to stop and scorch the boys' noses and lungs. The smog Sirius had seen the last time he was down here had spread even further down the hall, cloaking the last few rooms with a thick smoke screen.

Forced to light their wands in order to see a few yards in front of them, the three Marauders filed through the end of the hall, stopping short at the last darkened room. The last time Sirius stepped into that room, he had to be dragged back out. None of the boys wanted that to happen again.

"Just peak in," Remus whispered, pointed towards the last leg of the dungeons. "We don't want to interrupt if we don't need to."

Sirius and Peter shook their heads in agreement. They then put out the lights their wands carried and crept slowly to the foot of the door.

Mist which had once smothered the room had been cleared out, leaving the air thick and heavy. The lanterns that had once surrounded the main floor were permanently extinguished, replaced by several black candles which curled with age. The candles brought enough light into the dungeon in order to see the only two figures which occupied the room. One was hunched over awkwardly on one knee, his head and shoulders slumped forward. The other dark shadow loomed over, eyes radiating more light then all the candles placed together.

"Hear me out once more." James's voice croaked from the hunched figure. "I tell you, I've come to help. I have knowledge of this world that you do not yet possess. Please, I've come to _aid_."

The dark figure twisted her fingers so that her palms faced the ceiling. Some shadowy aura sparked suddenly surrounded James and lifted him off of the floor. The Marauder let out a muffled groan of deep pain which made Sirius wince. Even through the haze, Sirius cold clearly see crimson bloody running down James's face. He had gone through an ordeal, even before the other Marauders had gotten there.

"Got to help him," Sirius said through gritted teeth. Before he could take a step forward, however, Remus put out a restraining arm.

"Not yet," he cautioned. "If we rush in, Phinny might do something drastic. She hasn't killed Jim yet. That's a very good sign."

"I'm going to give a sarcastic retort on Jimmy's part," Sirius squinted deeper into the room, "and say that it's a _great_ sign."

_"You are starting to intrigue me, mortal."_ Phiona's voice floated low in the smog, causing everyone in hearing distance to shiver uncontrollably. James, who seemed to be affected by the sound even more, dared to let out a low groan. _"Your true powers have yet to arise. I feel the Gift inside you."_

"_Christ_," Sirius swore under his breath. "Phin's evil _and_ completely off her bloody rocker. This isn't a good combination, mates."

_"Given time to grow, you will become unstoppable." _Phiona's pupil-less eyes widened a bit more. Her long fingers began to close around her open palms. James's face drained of what little colour he had left. Brief choking noises escaped from his throat. _"Therefore, I have made the decision to dispose of you now."_

James's eyes went wide with either complete horror or excruciating pain. His hand curled violently, wrenching at his throat as if trying to claw out another breath.

_"I have always wondered how much pain a mortal can endure until they expire." _Phiona began circling James like a ravenous shark waiting to taste blood in the water. _"After your lungs fully collapse onto themselves, how long do you think it will take until you succumb?"_

Phiona held a hand under James's chin and forced the Marauder to face her. His bulging eyes met the pure white orbs which now filled the witch's eye sockets. Gut wrenching gasps rolled through the dungeons - they were slowly getting shorter, however. Shorter and less energetic. A thin river of blood was running down James's chin from his mouth.

Death was most certainly knocking at the door, politely asking for little Jimmy Potter to come out and play.

_"The process is quite interesting, I find."_ Phiona's long fingers ran down the side of James's ghostly face. A wicked grin flashed across thin lips. _"I could pluck out your eyes with your optic nerve still attached,"_ she cooed. _"You could see yourself in a whole new light."_

All at once, Sirius's brain shut down and filled with filtered adrenaline. Before Remus or Peter could catch him, the fuming Marauder tore into the room, giving a Highlander battle cry as he went. As if some deranged ghost of a Scottish rugby player had possessed him, Sirius staged a flying tackle at Phiona. He hit his target with gruelling force, sending both bodies tumbling to the ground together.

The possessed witch put up a fierce fight, calling out a brisk string of accent Latin. Sirius felt a sharp tug in the middle of his stomach, carrying with it enough force to pull him backwards. The Marauder made a wild grab, catching Phiona by the shoulder and anchoring him to the ground.

There was a sudden gap of time in the dungeon. Sirius's mind, everything around him, just _stopped_ . . . He had Phiona in his grasp. Therefore, he had a chance to make things right again. He had a chance to stop this sickness before someone succumbed because of it. Sirius had a chance, but, in that brief lapse of time and space, he thought of few options. Asking Phiona to sneeze on him didn't seem quite possible at this point in the game; the satanic witch was much too busy calling up the Dark Fates to rip Sirius's body apart to listen.

_"YOU'LL DIE FOR THIS, __MOR__TAL!"_ Phiona's voice boomed, shaking Sirius's body to its very bones. He couldn't bring himself to look into her pupil-less eyes.

"Don't feel much like doing that today, you bint." Sirius was barely able to crack a sarcastic grin through all the pain that had suddenly been inflicted on him. "Though, if you remember this after everything is all said and done, I'm sure you'll kill me anyways."

As if suddenly having the urge to pick up where the sporadic love scene played out several days ago in the Great Hall left off, Sirius closed his eyes tightly and amorously met up with Phiona Love. The kiss, a deep and frightening act, lasted only a few seconds. This was enough time for Sirius to feel Interieus Petitloupe wash over him. He parted from Phiona, suddenly quite sick to his stomach. Still below him, Phiona looked as ill as the Marauder. Her eyes, no longer glowing white orbs, were now dark and sullen.

"You _bastard_," she rasped.

It was the immense heat that Sirius felt first. Blazing heat was soon upstaged by a roaring explosion that rocked Sirius until it was permanently etched in his bones. Sirius suddenly felt himself being blown off his feet. He was flying through the air, like some sort of ungraceful bird, and the wall behind him was approaching at an alarming speed. _'Maybe,'_ the Marauder thought, _'this will be one of those impacts where you don't feel any pain until later.'_

_'Nope,'_ replied his pessimistic side, _'afraid not.'_

Sirius slammed into an already crumbling marble pillar, bringing it tumbling down over top of him. The pain was immediate and overwhelming; enough to pull the Marauder out of consciousness and down into a world of darkness.

* * *

**_Author notes:_**_ The next chapter ('Sirius . . . Again') shall be the final episode of 'Werewolf Fever'. Look for it soon!_


	6. Sirius Again

**Werewolf Fever**

CHAPTER SIX:

_Sirius . . . Again_

Voices screamed inside Sirius Black's head. They pounded ruthlessly on the back of his skull, banging their tiny little fists furiously. All Sirius wanted to do was _sleep_. Sleep and never wake up again. Was that too much to ask for?

_Yes it is, you ugly little wanker_, replied the voices inside his head. _Now open your eyes._

Sirius refused to grant the request. Listening to little voices in your head was one thing, but letting them order you around was quite another.

_You're a knob, you are. Open your eyes._

No, Sirius was quite happy in this dream-like state, thank you very much. The real world was much too harsh. Honestly, though – Why would he want to wake up? Phiona would still be a cold-blooded killer. James, Remus, and Peter would all be scorch marks on the dungeon floor. Plus, he had a five yard Arithmancy essay due next week. Better dead then suffer through _that_ bit of rubbish.

_Fuck **that** for a lark,_ the voices squealed as they began to pound harder against his skull. _Right, mate. You're asking for it._

A stabbing pain coursed through Sirius's body – it sprouted from his brain and slid down into his stomach. He groaned. Oh woe is he.

_That'll teach ya. Bloody pillow-bitter. _

Sirius slowly opened his eyes. Blearing light hit his pupils with brutal force, causing him to let go of a pathetic whimper. Everything around him was white – horrible, retina-burning white. Sirius reached out into this new world, fondling his environment like a zealous blind man.

"I must," he whispered to himself, "be in _Heaven_."

"Tough shit of _that _ever happening, Pads. Lucifer sent you your one-way ticket to Hell years ago."

Sirius's mental being was pulled back into reality and slapped about vigorously. He dared to let his eyes focus, only to take in the sight of the brightly lit hospital wing. He was sprawled over a white infirmary bed, surrounded by linen sheets. Lifting his pounding head off his feather pillow, Sirius caught sight of Madam Pomfrey fussing over a bed across from his own. Remus? Yes, there was Remus Lupin (very much alive) nursing down cup of tea. Peter Pettigrew was in the bed neighbouring the young werewolf and was snoozing soundly amongst cool cotton blankets.

To complete the Marauder Quartet, Sirius spied the ever-grinning James Potter in the bed next to his own. He had collected several hex marks, the worst of which cascaded from the corner of his right eye down the bridge of his long nose.

"This _is_ Hell," Sirius moaned, his hand sliding down the side of his face. "Eternity with _you_ stuck next to me. Bullocks, this is _worse_ then hell."

A pillow was swiftly flung at Sirius from James's side of the fence. The feathered missile hit its target with vengeance, forcing the ailing Marauder to collapse back into his bed. "I'm _dying_, Jim," he groaned. "You just hit someone on their bloody _death bed_. I hope you feel guilty at my funeral – you better damn well throw yourself on my fucking pyre."

"You're hardly dying, Mr. Black." Madam Pomfrey, seeing that one of her patients was awake and swearing, glided to Sirius's bedside. "You have a flu – one of the worse cases of the flu I've seen in a while, mind you, but a flu all the same. You're companions, however, fared a bit worse after the explosion."

Sirius blinked his clouded eyes. "Explosion?"

"In the old dungeons, remember Sirius?" James jumped in. "We were setting off fireworks down there. Must have reacted with the old nitro – we blew that classroom sky high."

Mind spinning out of control, Sirius tried desperately to fit together the pieces of the puzzle.

Dungeons. Explosion. James pleading for his life with –

"_Phiona!"_

From across the room Peter gave a terrifying squeal in his sleep. Madam Pomfrey shot a quick look of suspicion towards Sirius, then hurried off to settle her other patient.

"Oh _fuckin'ell_ Jim," Sirius swore, his words smothered by the pillow he had buried his face into. "What _happened_?"

"You sucked face with Phinny, that's what happened," James answered bluntly. "You pulled the fever off of her. It's running its last leg with you, mate. It's all over."

"Over?"

"And the best part is . . . nobody's on to the whole kibosh." James smirked, edging in closer to his fellow Marauder so adult ears in the room were shut off. "One of the candles set off a patch of nitro. Blew the whole bloody place into pieces. Me and Remus told the professors we were all fooling around with a cart of fireworks. And, now that you've got the tail end of the fever and Phinny's lost her serial killer tendencies, we're all in the clear."

Sirius's brain twisted and groaned, trying desperately to hang on to all of the information which had been flung his way. Werewolf fever, however, muddled things up for him a bit; all he seemed to retain was the word _'kibosh'_. And Sirius had no idea why James would think of sausages at a time like this.

"Where's Phiona?" he managed to ask.

James's smirk vanished somewhat as he nodded to the left. A hospital bed stood in the corner. Sheets draped down from the ceiling, forming a canopy over this make-shift sanctuary. "I reckon she's in there," the Marauder murmured. "Don't know for sure, though. They might have taken her to St. Mungo's."

Without a second thought, Sirius slowly persuaded his body out of bed. His legs protested and his head squealed with pain, but he continued forward with a shuffling motion. Five . . . seven . . . thirteen steps to the canopied bedside. He glanced back at James, who was nervously chewing at his bottom lip, and then stepped inside the white chamber.

Any author of the Romanic nature would have set Phiona in an angelic light. This is how Sirius wanted to picture her – a delicate porcelain doll sleeping soundlessly under blankets as white as snow.

But, of course, this was _Phiona Love_ – One-hundred and twenty kilo rugby players were more delicate than this frizzy-haired bint.

"Wotcher, Sirius." Phiona turned a page of the Daily Prophet (Sport and Gaming Section) which sat on her lap. She sported a gash across her forehead, which had been magically stitched up, as well as brisk discolouration around her eyes. Her torso was wrapped tightly in bandages, supporting several broken ribs. So much for Sirius's porcelain doll. "I was wondering when you'd drag your skinny arse over here to visit."

Feeling horribly light-headed, Sirius plopped down at the foot of Phiona's bed. "You okay?" he asked.

"Grabbed worse during Quidditch games. Though, it looks like I fared better then you." Phiona glanced up from her paper. "You look like you've eaten something Jim cooked up for you. Or, should I say, something that James had cooked, eaten, and then regurgitated onto your dinner plate. What did you catch? Flu?"

"Something like that." Sirius gave into his body's protests and collapsed onto the bed, his head resting on one of Phiona's knee. "Phinny?" he cooed, trying to sound as pathetic as humanly possible.

"Eh?"

"Do you remember . . . how you got here?"

"I reckon it had something to do with my dad fucking me mum." Phiona gave a little sniffle. "Stop me if I'm wrong."

Sirius gave a disgusted groan. "You know damn well what I mean, you twat."

Phiona raised an eyebrow and let her newspaper drop to the floor. "You know, the lot of you must have gotten me absolutely soused out of my mind. Pomfrey told me that I helped set off fireworks in the old dungeons and that we blew the place out of existence. But I don't remember even _being _down in the dungeons – the only thing I can truly remember is that –" she paused, glancing over Sirius with suspicion, "– you _kissed _me. _Again._"

Sirius felt as though he was going to blow his groceries all over the white sanctuary of sheets. "I . . . erm . . . I never –"

"You _did._ Don't throw me all this rubbish that you didn't, because you bloody well _did._"

"Phiona, I didn't _mean—_"

"Oh, he's calling me _Phiona_ now." The witch quickly jerked her legs out from under the Marauder. The back of Sirius's skull bounced dully off the end of the mattress. "Who the _hell _do you think you are, Black?"

Sirius winced. Oh, Phiona was going to absolutely _whale _on him. "Dog's bollocks?"

"Close," Phiona hissed. "Why did you kiss me?"

So, here stood the incredibly ill Sirius at the crossroads of doom. He could tell her the truth. He could ramble on and on about Remus and his werewolf fever. The question was, however, would Phiona believe him? _That_ variable could twist either way – and each twist would bring Sirius a bit more pain.

But there was another truth he could tell Phiona. One that he had let simmer inside of him for several years. It may not have been the right time or place to divulge in that sort of information. But . . . she was leaving so soon. The end of the year was drawing closer – Sirius was running out of time.

This time was as good as any other.

"Phin, I was . . . _sick _for a while –"

"Sick in the head?"

"Ye—_No_. No, that's not what I mean." Sirius closed his tired eyes, feeling the decrepit hospital mattress sink in below him. "I . . . had the flu a while back. But, it made me realize something that I wouldn't have admitted to otherwise." He rolled over onto his side in order to face Phiona. This was a long and painful process – his body had suddenly decided that it didn't very much like taking orders from him anymore. "I've realized that . . . I've . . ." Sirius's stomach twisted suddenly. "I've fallen in love with you."

There was silence – a moment of cold which hit Sirius harshly. Phiona stared at him with wide eyes. Shock and disbelief, Sirius assumed, must have been flowing down her veins. The witch said nothing – but her eyes . . . began to tear up. Tears of joy?

Just when Sirius let himself slip back into the state of relief, however, Phiona Love threw her shaggy head back into the air and burst into a fit of laughter. Giant tears streaked down her face.

"Oh . . . oh _God. _You almost sounded . . . sounded _serious_!"

Her laughter got louder. She grabbed her side, the humour chaffing against her broken ribs.

Well, Sirius thought, at least she's taking it well.

"I should k–_kill you_." Phiona stumbled over her words as her laughter quickened. "When I s-s-stop laughing, tell me why you k-kissed me, you _b-b-b-bastard_!"

The Marauder wanted to commit suicide. Right then and there. He began to wonder how many bed sheets it would take to make a noose.

"Phiona," he mumbled, eyes focused on the white sheets which surrounded them. "I'm serious."

This set the witch off on another spree of guffaws. Sirius hoped that her ribs hurt. Really badly.

"Sirius is serious! Sweet _Jesus . . . _would you c-c-cut it _out_? I don't think I can –" Phiona never got to finish, for, in a fit of blind hilarity, she rolled right out of her bed, landing with a dull _thump_ on the ground. Her right leg caught one of the poles which were holding up the curtains; it hooked around, bringing the white sheets floating down on top of them both.

"Well then, feeling a bit better, are we?"

Sirius let the white sheet glide over his face and fall across his back. Madam Pomfrey was standing over him, looking as though he was a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

He wanted to explain, but that would take too much effort.

"Back to bed." The nurse grabbed Sirius and hauled him up on his feet. "The both of you."

Sirius Black stumbled back to his bed. The Walk of Shame. Of course, from the look on James's face, it would be hence forth referred to as the "The Shuffle of Emasculating Disgrace".

He sat back into his bed, pulling his covers up to his chin, and let his glance move to the side. Madam Pomfrey was fixing the white sheets across Phiona's bed. Sirius couldn't help but notice that, even as the curtains moved across to hide her face, the witch was no longer laughing.

* * *

High banners wrapped tightly around the six Quidditch posts, flooded over the stadiums, and washed across the pitch. Unlike their brothers and sisters inside the castle, the flags of the four houses flew as one. Canary twisted with blue, crimson tangoed with green – the badger, the eagle, the lion, and the serpent stood side by side, watching together as their children marched onto the field below.

The seventh years walked in two lines, stretching the length of the pitch. Each were decorated in full wizarding robes – males in black, females in white – as well as pointed sorcery hats and tightly wound rope made with the four colours of the houses. The rope hung forward, its ends hanging by the wearers' ankles.

Today _they _were the future. The next generation of the wizarding world. The daring ones let their eyes slip up onto the stadiums, where thousands sat in waiting. Each and every glance settled on the seventh years as they divided up in one choreographed movement and realigned into their separate seats.

The Professors were lined up on a short wooden platform which had been placed in front of the seventh year's seats. Each of these elders was dressed in crimson ceremonial robe, reflecting the ancient wisdom of the Druids. Even the behemoth groundskeeper did his best to look respectable by wearing several new Woodwolf pelts across his massive shoulders.

"Welcome, friends."

The voice echoed across the field and over the stands. It cut through the air easily, for there was nothing but silence in its way. Of course, when Albus Dumbledore spoke, the masses edged closer to listen.

"I look down at the faces placed before me," Dumbledore spoke, eyes twinkling, "and see children of the past. I have watched you succeed in your studies, overcome obstacles, and thrive with your fellow man. I have also, as I recall, pulled several of you from the mouth of our giant squid."

A fresh fit of guffaws echoed around general vicinity of the Gryffindor Beaters.

Dumbledore gave a simple smile, then continued. "But you are no longer children," he said, his voice growing in strength. "You are now the wizards and witches of our future. And I must be the first to congratulate you on serving seven long years at Hogwarts. May the years ahead of you be a bit less chaotic than the years behind you."

Instead of cheering and stomping their feet, each and every seventh year stood from their seats in one smooth movement and silently raised their wands. The line of Professors mimicked the movement, letting their wands point straight into the blue sky above. Dumbledore was the last to do so.

"_Draco Verdios!"_ his voice boomed.

"_Interius Proliterais!"_ the seventh years answered.

In a burst of sparks, white beams simultaneously shot out of the raised wands. The lights burst upwards then curved together, forming a star-like spectacle above their heads. It pulsated, then – as if it was egged on by the cheers and yells of the stands – the formation exploded, showering the graduating seventh years in red sparks. No one below seemed to care what the colour of their future held for them. They could finally break the silence with cheers, whoops, tears, and embraces. They were finished with Hogwarts – now everything was up to them.

Albus Dumbledore gave a small sigh as the colours brushed past his face. "Red this time," he mumbled to himself as the bedlam in front of him started to spawn. "Sacrifice. Bloodshed – What is to come of this?"

As the last of the warning sparks began to disappear, the contents of the stadiums began to file out onto the pitch. Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, distant long lost relatives – They swarmed by the hundreds, each one carving through the throng to find their graduate. The rest of the Hogwartians filed onto the grass as well – congratulating their friends and fellow classmates by the masses.

Sirius Black, usually the first to dive into a massive crowd, stood back and let the party move on without him. His fellow Marauders didn't seem to notice that one of their numbers was missing – Sirius watched them carefully as they curved through the masses towards Devon Turner, Brinker Hadley, Thomas Benecke, and Phiona Love.

Sirius stuffed his hands into his pockets. Someone brushed past his right shoulder, but his glance was glued to the scene in front of him. Phiona was _laughing_ with her companions. Unlike the rest of the female population of the seventh years, Phiona had yet to shed a tear. Even as she received a bouquet of wild flowers from Peter, a brotherly hug from James, and a soft kiss on the cheek from Remus – nothing but happiness sprung from her.

She was leaving her friends, her home . . . but still no tears came.

"Wotcher, Black."

Sirius was thrown back into reality as a strong grip caught his shoulder. A large bearded man had appeared next to him. He wore a weathered leather cloak and a hiltch hat – figuratively spitting in the eye of formal attire.

"Hello, Mr. Love. Sir." Sirius added the last bit without thinking. Phiona's father was a man who demanded respect – and if he didn't get respect, he would demand a blunt object to bash your brains out with.

Love gave a grin, doing his best not to make it look as though he was baring his teeth. "Never fought I'd see ther day," he said, his gruff voice etching the words into Sirius's bones. "Me only daughter's gone 'n grown up on me now."

"All six through Hogwarts, sir?" Sirius asked. Love's family, the Marauder knew from experience, was the only safe subject when in conversations with the massive man. Anything else might lead you into a bloody nose, a broken rib, or a horse head under the covers of your bed. "Phin's the last of your family to come through?"

"Aye." Love nodded, sniffing a bit. "Five of her brothers out befer her. Too bad, though . . ."

The grip tightened on Sirius's shoulder, as if cuing him to continue the conversation.

"Too bad what, sir?"

"Phee's the only Gryffindor in family. Except fer her mater, godblessher." Love sniffed again. "Shame, it is. A right shame."

A bit of Lion pride twanged in Sirius's heart. "Gryffindor's a good house, sir," he said, though a bit meekly. "I'm the only one in my family too."

"A family of Slytherins don't breed up Gryffindors, lad. Written in nature, that is." Love chuckled. "Reckon you and me Phee are couple'a right oddballs."

Sirius's eyes travelled over Phiona Love once more. Her five brothers, all wearing the green and silver patch of their former house, were swarming around her. She was still laughing, Sirius noticed. Why didn't she waver? Did she forget that she wasn't going to see these people again for years?

"I've been finking . . .the bitty one _does_ take after Esme." Love broke the silence. "Hope fer somefing better fer Phinny, though. _Gryffindors_, in _our_ family . . . when they pop up, lad, they don't last as long as they're supposed'ta."

Phiona's father, Sirius knew, never had a way with words. And comparing Phiona to her dead mother wasn't exactly a strong point to launch a conversation off of. Sirius knew little of the event; as expected, Phiona was less then chatty when it came up. Remus said that they had once talked about it in the hospital wing the night before a full moon. The witch and the young werewolf seemed to have deep discussions each month in order to wrangle his thoughts into a straight queue. And the control of ones thoughts were most important the night before the transformation.

_'Death is a usual subject,'_ Remus confessed to Sirius when questioned about it. _'And Phin . . . knows a lot about it. Her mother died several months after Phinny was born. She told me, Sirius, that her mum just . . . disappeared. They didn't even find the body.'_

"Sirius Black chatting up my dad, eh? No good can come of this. No good at all."

Sirius looked up – meeting the dark eyes of Phiona Love. She gave a half-smirk, one corner of her mouth curling while the other stayed in place. Another brief chuckle was squeezed out of her, causing her pointy features to scrunch up comically. Sirius blinked, stumbling over words which had formed somewhere in the back of his throat. Before he could grab a sentence, Mr. Love squashed Phiona in a bearish embrace.

"Me wee Duckie." Love cooed – or, Sirius believed, _try_ to coo. It came out more like a dull grumble than anything else."Isn't there anyway ta get yer ta stay in Sheffield? Got plenty a'—"

"Sorry, Dad." Phiona wiggled out of hug. "I need to go out for a bit of an adventure."

"Aye, yer do." Love gave a bit of a sigh, which quickly turned into a gruff cough. "Yer brothers 'n me'll miss ya, though."

Phiona took her father's giant, paw-like hand in her own. "You'll get over it in a few weeks – as soon as Quinn brings the new clutch of Opaleye eggs in, you won't even remember me."

"Er . . . How many're in the clutch?"

"I'll talk to you later, Dad." Phiona grinned as she gave her father one last hug. "Our class has a Portkey to catch."

Phiona's glance finally caught Sirius's eyes. Her grin seemed to fade a little.

"I better be off ter collect yer brothers." Love clamped a hand on Sirius's shoulder again and bent down to the Marauder's height. "Take care of her, Black," he growled, "or _I'll_ take care of _you."_

Phiona gave a soft guffaw as she watched her father fade into the background. "He didn't just threaten you, did he?"

"Only somewhat," Sirius answered. "How soon do you have to leave?"

"Soon." Phiona bit her lower lip. "Our whole year catches the same Portkey to some place called Godrick's Hollow – the Ministry collects us up, tags us, and sets us off back into the wild."

Both Gryffindors, past and present, looked out onto the pitch. Sirius's hand brushed against Phiona, causing an extreme burst of heat to run the length of his arm. "And you're shipping off to a dragon sanctuary?"

"Yep. There's one in Brazil that's holding a spot open for me."

A pause.

"You told the rest?"

"Remus and Peter were happy for me. But James . . ." There was that grin again. "James threatened disembowelment and a lifetime of living in his closet."

"Mr. and Mrs. Potter are nice people," Sirius put in. "They've put up with _me_ for years – I'm sure they could tolerate you."

There was another pause. Dumbledore and his staff had begun to collect the graduates so the field had begun to clear out quickly.

"I'll . . . owl you," Phiona said suddenly, "when I get to wherever I'm getting to."

"Right."

"And I'll send you some sweets – Maybe I'll stop through China and pick up those illegal fire-starter suckers you like."

"Sounds good."

"Sirius." There was a swift, almost sheepish movement as Phiona collected her friend in an embrace. "I'll miss you."

Sirius couldn't reply.

"Thank you for everything." Phiona pressed her cheek against Sirius's neck. He felt the wetness of tears on his skin. "Take care of yourself."

"Phinny—"

"And make sure James doesn't kill himself." Phiona slowly moved away from the embrace. "Take care of Remus – Keep him safe, Padfoot. I can't –"

Sirius grabbed hold of her hand. She didn't fight the capture. "Phinny."

"I've got to go, Sirius."

"_Phiona_." Sirius's grip tightened. After years of this, he'd be damned if he let her go this time. "I have to tell you something."

"_No_," she interrupted, her voice a bit harsher. "No you don't. You don't need to tell me anything."

"Listen to me, Phiona."

She took a step back and stumbled out of his grasp. "I'm _leaving_, Sirius. _Leaving._ Half a world away." There was a swift silence. "Don't," she whispered, "make this more difficult than it already is."

"But—"

"I _know_, Sirius. Whatever it is you think you need to tell me, I already know." Phiona's dark eyes finally travelled over the Marauder in front of her. "We just both have to . . . forget about it."

Sirius's fist tightened. "How the hell do you expect me to do that?"

"What you . . . what I – whatever there is, it will fade when I'm gone." Phiona gave a week shrug, eyes darting to the side. "All I can promise you – all I can give you – is my friendship, Sirius."

"Phiona, please listen to me."

"_Friendship_, you bastard." She refused to let her glance drift back to Sirius. "We've survived this long. _Friendship_. Nothing more, nothing less."

It felt as though Sirius had just been hit with a tough jab to the stomach. He felt every dull heart beat against his rib cage. But he managed a thin, forced smile. "Friends." This was what Phiona wanted. So that was the way it would be. Sirius would have to swallow his emotion and, once again, lock it up inside. "Friends," he repeated.

There was another hug. And a daring kiss on the forehead; something insignificant and meaningless to Sirius at that point, but a kiss all the same. Phiona said something . . . something about being nice to Peter and Remus or something about torturing James – Sirius didn't bother to listen. A simple, empty goodbye echoed from his lips.

Then she was gone.

"It'll be hard." A hand clamped onto Sirius's shoulder. "It'll be hard without Phin. You okay, Pads?"

"Won't be the same without her, Jim."

James shot his companion a sidewise glance. "I'm sure we'll get on fine. We've got one more year to raise as much hell as humanly possible. We'll make her proud."

Sirius gave a crooked grin. For old-time's sake. "You think we can top this year?"

"Padfoot." James chuckled, his dark eyes watching the last bit of sun set over the empty Quidditch pitch. "The shit hasn't even begun to hit the fan."


End file.
